Fifty Shades Older
by riottori
Summary: It turns out Ana was right, Christian couldn't give up his darker tendencies. How has his lifestyle affected their relationship? Is this the end or a new beginning? Perhaps the original cheating story. Not for the faint-hearted. You have been warned...
1. Chapter 1

If I crane my neck, I can catch a glimpse of them together in the restaurant. I peer under the rear-view mirror, my full view of him impeded by the 'L' of the Lorenzo's sign. I've been here for 23 minutes and their starters have just arrived. I tut: Lorenzo's standards have been slipping recently. Last week, I had to wait 30 minutes for a simple dessert.

He edges into my line of vision as he sits forward on his chair. He raises his hand and cups her chin. She looks down in a mannered, practiced way like a little girl in a school play. He'll like that. I imagine his eyes twinkling, sparkling their special silver. The handbrake is pressing against my thigh. I'll probably bruise – I'm fragile like that.

They've ordered oysters I note with a sinking heart. I watch his familiar hands, hazy in their rapid movements, lit by the candle, as he prepares one for her. She's still looking shyly at the table-cloth. My God, she must be in her early twenties. I feel myself flush with anger.

He whispers something to her and she looks up through her thick, dark lashes. I watch her nod, her mouth form a shy little smile and then open, wide. He's watching her, mesmerised. He lifts the oyster shell to her mouth, their gaze locked. He mimics her, his lips slightly parted as he eases the shell onto her lower lip. With a swift, slick movement of his sharp, silver knife, he shucks the oyster into her mouth. I imagine rather that see the smooth gulp as her throat constricts. I close my eyes, my own throat tight. I swallow down the bubble of hurt.

When I open my eyes, I see that he has moved back in his chair and out of my line of vision. She has resumed her submissive table-stare again. I note that her palms are flat down on the table. This must be a new part of the game. He edges into view, tilts her head up, whispers in her ear again and her mouth opens automatically. Oh she's good, I think. His large hands cup the next shell while his long fingers work the knife like a master. Her head tips back, and this time he places his flat palm on her throat, feeling the oyster make its downward journey. I think I'm going to be sick.

A rap on my window makes me jump.

"You can't park here," a voice booms its warning, the speaker's face distorted as it looms toward my window.

I nod my agreement, desperate not to make a scene – he'll recognise my car. With a shaky hand, I turn the key in the ignition and hear the smooth hum of the motor. The uniformed man steps back, an admiring nod at the car. I rev the engine to show its power and roar off into the night, my sight slightly blurred by hot, hurt tears.

I park in the underground garage and pull off my wig. It's made of real human hair and makes me a blonde for the first time in my life. I place it carefully into my glove compartment and run a hand through my own light brown hair. I'm not looking well I realise as I face myself in the mirror. I'm tired and I look it. Small, black rings darken the hollow under my eyes, my skin looks a little tired. I squint in the half-light of the garage, not flattering myself any. I sigh and open the door, grab my bag and head to the elevator.

The elevator pings my arrival at the Penthouse, our house. The apartment is quiet. I step out of my heels and tiptoe down the hall, feeling the thick carpet's caress on the soles of my stockinged feet. I flick on the unobtrusive lamp on the side-board and head for the bar. I've been drinking a lot lately. I unscrew the top off the brown apothecary Hendricks bottle, and glug a few shots into a glass, dispensing with the slice of cucumber. I don't have time to cut it. I need it to work, fast. I add a splash of tonic and retreat to the leather armchair that overlooks the city. I swirl my drink around already calmed by the fizz that escapes. I sip and look out over the skyline, the lights comforting like old friends. What the hell am I going to do?

After my third refill, I stagger to the bedroom, my hands already unbuttoning the silk-covered buttons of my light-grey shirt, a shirt he has bought for me. A soft whimper escapes me and I jerk my head at the odd sound I have made. I peel the shirt off, and slam the light on so I'm standing in rather bright light in front of the mirror. A forty-year-old stares back at me, swaying in her tight pencil skirt and bra, hair wavy and slightly wild, mirroring the look in her eye.

"That's me," I whisper and lurch forward so my reflection and I are eye-to-eye. "Me," I say again, trying to understand how I got this way, when and how I grew up. My hot breath fogs up the mirror. This is not the first time I have had these tet-a-tets with blurry-mirror me. They started a few years back but their frequency has increased of late. In my head I'm in my twenties, stalking around, capable and confident in that way that only the young truly are. Then I'll catch a glimpse of myself, in a shop window, in a passing taxi, and I'm shocked that my outer shell doesn't correspond with the inner core of me.

I'm still beautiful I'm told, often, by many people but since I've never really felt that I was, it's hard to believe it now. He says that I get better with age, like French cheese. I'd hit him with a pillow when he first made that analogy, and giggled – his favourite sound – and allowed it to become an 'in' joke. Even now he gives me a wink when he orders a cheese-plate at a restaurant.

I unzip my skirt, and shimmy it down my thighs, a provocative, drunken smile at myself in the mirror. I flick my hair as I dispense with my skirt, throwing it behind me so it thuds, softly on the bed. He used to love this game, this dance and I used to love to perform it. It also used to be enough.

I still work out to maintain my slim frame and have found over the years that I need to exercise every day. And I have to watch what I eat. He used to control that, would ask me constantly if I had eaten, check up on me. It showed his love. Now I can skip entire meals and he doesn't even notice.

I cock my head to the side and assess myself, standing in expensive lingerie that I have picked. _You should be dressed in silk _he used to say. He knows my body as well as I do, has explored every inch of it over the past 20 years, has claimed it as his. It's as familiar to him as his own. And therein lies the rub.


	2. Chapter 2

Note from Riottori: Can I just say "Wow!" I woke up this morning to over 50 messages! I'm new to this and hugely flattered that you guys have taken the time to read what I've written and commented. I realise this is rather controversial but I was so inspired by the original that I felt compelled to explore A and C's paths. I'm writing this as I go so I will definitely take comments and suggestions on board. Right, back to writing.

Dr Flynn and I had always been worried about this, – me more so than him but then it was my happiness at stake, not his – the heavily-mercurial side of my Fifty, the side that needed the constant but simultaneously craved the new.

He won't touch me like he used to. I first noticed it when I was pregnant with Teddy. He reigned himself in, didn't let himself go as he used to. We had more and more 'vanilla' and even then he was worried about hurting me. I tried not to feel rejected, but it was hard considering my body was changing. Funny that all those years ago I'd needed more and now the 'more' that I so desperately needed was the thing that had almost had my 22-year-old self running for the hills.

I convinced myself that we'd return to how we'd been and we managed it to a certain extent but it was hard with a baby: a competitor for my body, my attention. You don't feel much like going into The Room when you smell of baby vomit and have had three hours sleep in two days.

And then I got pregnant again. And I could feel him slipping away. We hadn't had enough time to be Ana and Christian, now we were parts of 'a family'. Flynn told me that Christian didn't need 'that way of life' anymore, that he had 'put his demons to bed'. It was his attempt to reassure me; he believed that Christian was happier than he'd ever been and his need for control had been quelled. I wanted to believe him, he knew my Fifty so well. Certainly Christian still always looks at me with love in his eyes – I was the first girl he'd ever loved – but that burning candle of desire that so controlled our relationship was now nothing more that a flicker. It was waning and there was nothing I could do.

I wake early in the morning and hear the steady breathing of my husband beside me. He's home, I think. A small victory for me but then he always has been discreet. I turn to face him, watch him in his contented slumber, his heavy eyes flickering in the thrall of a dream. He doesn't have nightmares anymore, I've cured him of that. Another thing he loves about me.

I slide out from beneath the satin sheets and my feet find my kitten-heeled mules. I note with a surge of disappointment that the flimsy, sheer night-gown I have worn is intact, in place, still clinging to the curves of my body. Years ago he would have woken me if he'd found me in something as revealing as this. Now, he climbs into bed beside me and turns away.

My head starts to thud, dull and heavy with the after-effects of last night's alcohol. Coffee is my only cure and I head to the kitchen to make it. My movements are fluid and precise as I focus on the job at hand and attempt to push thoughts of him and her from my mind. Should I be consoled by the fact that she looks so much like me or disgusted by it? A small whimper of hurt escapes and I place the back of my hand to my mouth to silence myself, the huge diamond of my engagement ring biting into my lip._ I will not cry, I will not cry, _I repeat my morning mantra to myself.


	3. Chapter 3

Note from Riottori: Enjoy! And please give me any feed-back you can.

A sound from the doorway interrupts my mantra and makes me look up. My husband is leaning against the frame, his head cocked to the side and his intense, grey gaze assessing me. He's just wearing his pajama bottoms, his muscular chest bare save a fine smattering of hair. The effect he has on me is awesome, even now. I feel my breath catch in my throat and my eyes rake over him, drinking him in.

"Good morning, Mrs Grey," he purrs, lazy as a cat.

"Good morning, Mr Grey," I reply, my heart hammering its hurt somewhere deep inside me. "Coffee?" I ask, holding up the cafetiere, acting, playing my role perfectly. The good wife.

"Hmm, sounds good." He eases himself onto the bar-stool and runs a hand through his just-slept hair. I inhale sharply and turn away not wanting him to see the flush of despair that pinks my cheeks.

"What time did you get home last night?" I ask, while I fetch cream from the fridge. I bend over, deliberately, even though the cream is on the top shelf.

"Around 1. The meeting ran way over schedule," he lies, easily. "You were sound asleep. I didn't want to wake you."

I turn and look him in the eye, aware of how I look, tousled bed-hair, tight, revealing night-gown that highlights the fact I'm wearing nothing under it.

"You know I don't mind being woken, Mr Grey," I whisper, suggestively.

His mouth breaks into its familiar grin.

"Are you flirting with me, Mrs Grey?" he asks, grey eyes ablaze.

I step forward with a confidence I don't feel until I'm in his line of vision, all he can see.

"Maybe," I say and tug gently on my bottom lip, my gaze never leaving his. I feel the tell-tale bloom of desire in the bottom of my belly but it's mixed with a different desire, an over-riding one: I want to take back what is rightfully mine. _Come back to me, Christian_, I will him, feeling my emotions fill my blue eyes, trickle in like water. _While you still can, before too much damage is done. _

His buzzing cell rudely interrupts the tension I have created in the air between us and I feel a pang of disappointment. He rolls his eyes and reaches for the cell, his eyes widening a fraction when he reads the name on the screen.

"Sorry," he mouths, a final appreciative glance over my body and then he swivels on his stool to take the call. And I am left feeling bereft.

The shower pounds a relentless beat on my shoulders. I step right into the path of the hot water, tilt my face up into it and enjoy the all-encompassing touch it gives me. It washes away my hang-over, the droplets trickle down becoming one with my tears. I have learnt how to cry quietly; have mastered the art of hiding grief. I allow myself to indulge now and then.

My hands make a soapy trail over my body, the sponge invading and enticing, waking me up, emboldening me. I linger on certain spots, spots that have been neglected for too long. I crank the hot water up, steam filling the cubicle, making it hard to breath. The water cascades down, scalding my soft skin. I add a bit more hot – it is almost unbearable. Almost.

_Who are you? _I hear this question rise from my very core. _How much more can you take? _I ease the hot water up just a little more, impressed by my own limits. My skin feels red raw but I take it, willingly endure the punishing power of the water. One more turn of the dial and then I must be done, I think. I reach forward. _That's it, you little masochist... _

And then, just like that, I find the power to slam the water off. The steam clears almost as quickly as it has come and I can finally see. I stand, my skin ablaze from abuse as the burning water drips off me. I am fire, I am full of flame, I am Ana.

My husband is in our bedroom as I stalk from the en-suite, naked and feral and wild. He looks up, shock registering in his face, his hand tying his tie, frozen.

"Ana, what..." My mouth steals the words from his lips as I attack him, wrap my hands around his tie and drag him down to meet my mouth. My tongue claims him, invades him and I break back so he's gasping, panting, wanting more.

I turn on my heel and head for the chest of drawers, pulling out black, lacy underwear.

"What was that?" he asks, his question laden with desire.

"Can't a wife kiss her husband?" I ask, innocently. I don't turn to face him but can feel his eyes on me, taking in the view.

In a flash, he's by my side, one hand on my bare bottom, the other reaching round to the front to feel me. I wriggle away.

"Oh, Mr Grey. I'm going to be late. I have an important appointment. It's not just you, you know?" I tease, edging away from him.

I step into my knickers, all the while watching him, watching me. He reaches for me again, eyes hooded in confusion and lust. I back around the bed, using it as a barrier between us while I ease my bra on, a tantalising reverse striptease.

"Ana," he says, a warning, a command. I smile sweetly as I step into my dress and pull it on, hiding my nakedness.

"I don't want to be late. Sir." I look solemnly at him but I allow the corners of my lips to flick up.

"Are you smirking at me, Mrs Grey?" he asks, edging closer to me as I back away. "You know how I feel about that." His voice cracks with need. I flick my eyes down and see his desire straining against his trousers. It's been a long time since we've played this game.

"Oh, no, Sir. I would never smirk at you," I say, my eyes still down-cast. I peek shyly up at him like the girl last night, see the amusement and longing etched into his expression.

"Now, come here," he says.

"No, Sir," I say.

"What?" he asks, incredulously. "Are you defying me?"

"Yes, Sir."

"I said, come here." He sounds so in control.

"And I said, no, Sir. I want you to remember this all day. When you're in a meeting, you'll think about how you feel now." I train my focus on his crotch. "When you're eating lunch, remember me. When you're on the phone, remember me. Good bye, Sir."

As I walk briskly from the room, I can hear his groan of frustration. It makes me smile.


	4. Chapter 4

Note from Riottori: Apologies to those who like happy endings. I do to but I also like controversy. Again, thanks to those peeps who have messaged and for the plot ideas. They are always eagerly received. You should know that I am being very submissive, typing in a dark room while a sunshine day passes me by, for your pleasure! I hope you enjoy the next segment...

I head downstairs in the elevator, unsure of where I'm going to go, what my next move should be. The image of my frustrated Fifty floats in front of my face. My excitement at the power I still wield over him is bitter-sweet. Like the power he still has over me. A memory takes me over, escorts me deep into the past, a place I don't really want to revisit.

_I had laid our favourite grey tie on the bed in the shape of a question mark. Teddy must have been around four and Phoebe about two. Carrick and Grace had taken them out for the day and then they were having a sleep-over. I needed this, we needed this, to re-group. No more Mommy, no more Daddy. Just Ana and Christian._

_He entered the living room picking his way across the plush carpet which was strewn with toys and other signs of domestic life, to stand in front of me. His inquiring expression alerted me to the fact he had found the tie. I feigned mock-surprise, my mouth forming a delicate little 'o'._

_"__Do you want to?" he asked, as he trailed the tie between his long fingers. I longed to feel the familiar tug on my wrists, the giving in to the power, the complete submission. At first I had acquiesced to get at his love, to tap into it and achieve my 'more' but now I realised that it __**showed**__ his love and I needed it again. This was ours, something we shared. Our dirty little secret._

_"__Yes," I breathed, not able to elaborate, not wanting to break our intense eye contact or dampen the mood with unnecessary language. It had taken me time to locate the tie, a sign of how long it had been since we had had any flavour other than vanilla._

_"__Go to The Room," he ordered. _

_I sat in the corner as he had showed me, palms face up, hair in pigtails, completely naked bar a pair of white cotton panties. I looked as virginal as I could. He entered with a gust of wind that I could feel on my skin, that played over my body like hands on a harp._

_He walked towards me, then around me, assessing my posture, the level of my submission. I stared down at the floor not making a move, playing my role as he wanted. I almost felt my legs buckle beneath me, felt the throb of hot blood circulating through my veins, the tingle of the exertion in my thighs from my position. I was a little out of practice. I breathed in through my nose, steadying my growing anticipation._

_"__Stand," he barked, looming over me._

_I bobbed up in one fluid movement, my eyes still focused on the floor. He fingered my pigtail, running it through his fingers as he had done with the tie just moments before. _

_"__Ana, Ana," he sighed, hot breath against my neck. I resisted the urge to shiver. I could feel my skin prickle and pucker. "What am I going to do with you?"_

_I didn't reply. He tilted my head up, encircled my exposed throat with his long fingers. His other hand slowly trailed along my breasts, a small quick flick over the taut nipple and then down over my belly. _

_I felt him touch the scar from the C-section and hesitate. My heart skipped a beat._

_No, Christian, I willed him. I'm Ana, your Ana._

_I moved forward a little into his hand, showing my desire and willingness._

_He worried the scar some more but I could feel him slipping from me. I looked up, daringly into his eyes, trying to get him back, to incite a reaction. I'm disobeying you, my eyes said. Make me stop._

_He took a step back. _

_"__I can't, baby," he whispered, turning his slate eyes from mine. "I'm sorry. I can't do this with you anymore." And he had walked away from me and The Room. It was the 'with you' in his words which had alarmed me the most._

I shake my head as I walk to my car, as if trying to dislodge the memory. I feel the surge of another bubbling up, battering against my brain, trying to get in. I give in and let it take over.

_I was sitting in Flynn's waiting room, idly flicking through the pages of a magazine, not really seeing as supermodel after supermodel flitted in front of my face. My foot tapped on the floor, anxiety coursed through me. I felt like I was made of electricity._

_The door flew open and Flynn greeted me, a reassuring hand on my arm. He herded me into his office and led me to the familiar black chair._

_"__Ana, how are you?" he asked. Is this a formality? I wondered. The fore-play to our session proper?_

_"__Not well," I began, as a wave of emotion crashed over me, threatened to drown me. "It's Christian. And me. It's...us." _

_I looked up and felt myself shrink back from his inquisitive gaze. Maybe this was a mistake, maybe I should have found my own therapist. But he knows Christian so well._

_"__I'm listening, Ana. Please..." I watched his face soften and he settled back as I told him of The Disaster in The Room. _


	5. Chapter 5

Note from Riottori: Ok, guys. This should really be tagged onto the end of Chapter 4. I know some of you don't like the direction this is going in but I want to explore the practical polar opposite of James' 'fairy-tale' ending. I realise that 'reality' isn't as exciting or fulfilling as the 'fairy-tale' but I wanted to push the boundaries. I'm now torn between writing how I envisaged the story going versus reigning myself in and giving the masses what they want. Help! Answers on a postcard please...

"_So, Doc," I finished, trying for humour to hide my internal cringing. It wasn't easy to lay yourself bare like that, admit rejection. "What's your prognosis?"_

_He was thoughtful, contemplative, his fingers steepled under his chin. He looked every inch the brilliant psychologist that he was._

_"__Ana, have you ever considered that he's 'cured'?" His hands filled the space between us, making the shape of inverted commas. I baulked at him, at the simplicity of his words._

_"__Can he ever truly __**be **__cured?" I asked, unsure of the answer I would receive but braced for it._

_"__When I first met Christian, I was doubtful. I thought, through our therapy together, he would learn to live with his...how can I put it...his...predilection for...dominance, but never really get over it. He had been so fundamentally scarred by his childhood, I thought no amount of love could or would erase those scars. Even with you at the embarkation of your relationship, I understand that you indulged him, allowed yourself to be controlled and...that control played out in other forms."_

_"__You mean in our role-playing?" I ask, aware of a pink flush creeping over my face._

_"__Right," he nodded. "Furthermore, Christian needed to dominate you in every way: control what you wore, what you ate, etcetera etcetera."_

_I nodded back at him, remembering how frustratingly controlling he had been, picking out and paying for my clothes, dictating my diet (or trying to)._

_"__Have you noticed that his need to control you has waned over the past few years?" he asked. _

_I contemplated this for a moment._

_"__I think it's...changed direction somewhat."_

_"__What do you mean?" he asked, leaning forward in his chair._

_"__Well, he's now so focused...no, we're now both so focused on the children, what __**they're**__ eating, what __**they're**__ wearing," I laughed, thinking of how attentive Christian was, a real hands-on dad, running around comically with a dripping spoon to feed Phoebe, a hat for Teddy on wintry days. "It's understandable that we've fallen by the way-side a little, isn't it?" I look up intently into Dr Flynn's eyes, searching for reassurance._

_"__Of course, Ana. That's what I'm getting at. He's found a new way to channel his 'control' – by being a father. In The Room, he didn't want to tie you up, didn't need to have you submissive because he's at peace. He has a loving wife, beautiful children...what else does he need?"_

_I nodded. I wanted to believe him. It still sounded a bit too good to be true._

_"__Are you sure he doesn't just see me as a mother, and that's why he couldn't...touch me...that way."_

_"__Well, I'm assuming that you are engaging in intercourse with your husband."_

_"__Yes," I said, shyly. After The Disaster in The Room we had managed to have some 'vanilla'. Christian had appeared satisfied._

_"__Well then," he said, his open hands filling the expanse between us in a gesture that meant 'case closed'._

_"__I'm just worried that..." I cast my head down, embarrassed about my next confession._

_"__What?" Flynn asked._

_"__That over time, I may not be enough." There, I'd said it. Given life to my biggest doubt and allowed it to breathe in the room with me._

_Flynn laughed, a mirthful sound which juxtaposed with the gravity and depth of my last statement._

_"__Ana, you're worrying unnecessarily. Please. Don't create demons that don't exist."_

Oh Doc, if you could only see me now, I think while easing into my car, feeling the demon of the memory of last night looming over me. I put the car into reverse and roar out of the underground garage.

Note Ok guys. This should really


	6. Chapter 6

Note from Riottori: Ok peeps. This is the last segment from me tonight. I've done over 5000 word today! If you like controversy, you've come to the right place. Enjoy...

I pull up to my office building and park expertly in my space: the sparkling chrome Mrs A Grey sign welcomes me, my usual greeting. It normally makes me feel successful as both a woman and a worker. Today it fails to make me smile. _Look at what you sacrificed for him, _begins a voice as I head inside and cross the shiny, modern lobby, a perfunctory greeting to the equally shiny receptionist, _your name, your independence. _I push the voice out as I enter the lift, not wanting to hear it. It's no use, it penetrates through. _It's even his fucking company. You work for him. _That comment makes me rear up. I catch the glint of anger that falls over my features in the elevator mirror. _When did you become so weak? _The voice – my voice? – continues full of disdain, practically spitting out the final epithet.

I round on myself in the mirror, my eyes flashing an Arctic blue. _I'm not weak_, I answer back. A laugh of derision. _Who are you kidding, little Ana? _I close my eyes. I don't have an answer.

The morning passes in a blur. I cancel my face-to-face meetings, send out for lunch, hide behind my desk. _Like an animal licking its wounds. _The voice has followed me, a constant companion critiquing my every move. _Why not phone your loving hubby? _it drawls. _Find out what he's up to today?_

I turn my computer on and a message glints wickedly at me, begging to be opened.

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Your behaviour

To: Anastasia Grey aka My Wife

You were very naughty this morning. Do not think for one minute that it escaped my notice. At your behest, I've been thinking of you all day. It's got me into some trouble...

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

I stare at the screen. His joviality, the playful side of my Fifty, makes his deception even harder to swallow. _He's probably sent a message to her, too, _the ugly voice states. _The 'new and improved' Ana. _I delete the message and cradle my head in my hands.

_Snap out of it. _The voice jolts me awake. _Take the bull by the horns or rather, the cheater by the balls. _Another cackle of laughter. I drag my head up from my arms, brush the stray hairs from my eyes and take a deep breath. _OK, _I say. _No more little Ana._ With a shaking hand I lift the receiver and dial the number.

I arrive first at the restaurant, just like I've planned. I've told Christian that I have a late meeting so will come straight from the office. He's agreed to it for a change. The young, handsome waiter escorts me to our table (their table from last night) and pulls out my chair. I smile brightly at him but allow my right eye to close in a suggestive wink. He looks at me with a hint of a smile and returns my wink. A thrill of desire surges through me. I'm not normally out alone. I ease myself gracefully into my chair, feline-like, arching my shoulders back to let the waiter get a view of my body. _Would little Ana do this? _I ask the voice. It's silent for once. The waiter's mouth drops open and I sit back, enjoying the reaction. Men occasionally give me appreciative glances but none as blatant as this and they normally stop when they see the angry man whose arm I'm on.

Lorenzo comes over in a flurry of hand gestures and greetings. I allow him to kiss my cheek and watch the waiter retreat. I order a bottle of champagne and wait.

I feel his presence before I see him. There's a buzz that runs through the restaurant: women sit up a little straighter, men square their shoulders, the wait staff run around like worker-ants. He strides over to me, waving the waiter away.

"You shouldn't be waiting for me," he says an edge to his voice as he leans down. I am enveloped in the smell of his crisp aftershave. His lips brush warm against my cheek.

"I haven't been here long," I say, in an attempt to mollify him. He sits opposite me, a click of his fingers to get the handsome waiter running.

"Champagne," he commands, his gaze never leaving mine.

I smile at him then turn my gaze to the waiter.

"It's OK. I've already ordered Champagne," I say, pouting as I carefully ennunicate each word.

Christian looks sharply at me. It just spurs me on.

"What would _you_ suggest," I begin addressing the waiter, pushing an errant hair behind my ear and drawing my fingertip down my long neck, "we eat? I'm very hungry tonight."

From the corner of my eye I catch my husband stiffen. I continue to focus my gaze on the young waiter as if he is the only person in the room. I almost feel guilty for putting him on the spot like this, making him a pawn in our game.

"The Carpaccio is very good, Ma'am," he stutters.

"Hmm, I'm not really in the mood for Carpaccio." I pronounce it like it's a dirty word, fill my mouth up with it. "I fancy," I drawl, "oysters. We haven't had oysters in ages, have we?" I peel my gaze from the waiter and train it on Christian.

His mouth is set in a grim line, his jaw clenched. His eyes are the colour of the silver knife on my butter plate. The waiter, sensing a turning tide, backs away.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he snarls.

"Whatever do you mean?" I ask sweetly, my voice even, not betraying my thundering heart.

"You were flirting with him, Anastasia." He injects ice into every syllable.

I throw my head back in a full mocking laugh, my creamy neck exposed.

"Oh, Christian. Don't be so bossy!" I chide.

He blinks, a little stunned. I've managed to unbalance him. I'm not reacting as I normally do, as I should, as he has trained me to.

"I've just got a taste for oysters," I say, biting my lower lip. "Don't you?"


	7. Chapter 7

Note from Riottori: Good morning, guys. Here's the next installment. I know the chapters are kind of small but I want to get stuff out there for public consumption. Enjoy (and I say that warily)...

He sits back in his chair and I feel the space between us growing. He is still watching my face, locked in to my eyes, the eyes he knows so well and somehow, from somewhere inside me, I tap into a pool of strength which allows me to return his gaze. I hope my eyes don't betray me, don't shine a brighter blue sparked from my pain.

A quick flick of his wrist and the waiter is by his side, as pale and insignificant as the moon in the presence of my husband, the sun.

"My wife," he enunciates every word and they drip with meaning, possession as tangible as amber, "would like some oysters." The waiter nods and leaves our side, now Christian's pawn in this dangerous game.

_How did we get here? _I think. _Where__** is**__ there to get to? I can no longer see._

_He hid the key to The Room. It used to hang, innocuously next to the garage key. That was our little joke but I knew that it used to give us both a little thrill. It would jangle when one of us reached for the garage key, alerting us to its omnipresence, sounding its promise. The perverse and the mundane sitting side-by-side: I liked to think that key was a metaphor for us._

_Then one day, it was gone. It must have been a few weeks after The Disaster in The Room. I was heading out to the supermarket, Teddy and Phoebe bustled up like little snowmen, waiting for me to get them into the car. I reached forward and stopped suddenly. There was no jangle. The peg was bare._

_My first thought was: Oh, God. Someone's got hold of it. I'll have to tell Christian. It never occurred to me that it was he who had removed it._

_"__But why?" I'd asked him, facing him in his office while he reclined on his high-backed chair._

_"__Why, what, Ana?" His tone had been sharp, like he was explaining something to one of his employees. "We're not going back in there," the last word had been coated with disgust, "so why leave the key around?"_

_I'd decided to change tack, then, not wanting to feel like an errant school child called in to see the headmaster for some misdemeanor._

_"__What if __**I**__ want to go back in there?" I had tried for defiant but even to my own ears I had sounded petulant._

_"__**You **__are not going back in there, Ana. You can't...it can't be like that anymore...I don't __**want **__it to be..." His face fell and he was my lost little boy again, blinking back his emotions, burying them deep, deep down._

_I walked around the barrier of the desk that stood between us and sat on his lap._

_I furrowed my brow, comically, pushed non-existent glasses up the bridge of my nose. "Now Christian, Ana, the word for today is communication." I was doing my Flynn impression and right on cue the clouds lifted from Christian's face and were replaced with a sunny grin._

_"__I don't want us to go back in there. Let's just say I've developed an insatiable desire for vanilla. I'm happy with vanilla. I __**love**__ vanilla. I don't want us to go back in there." He nuzzled my neck, unleashing the giggles from me that he so loved to hear. I would later remember that at no point did he say he didn't __**need**__ to go back in there. Want and need, two very different things._

The waiter comes over with a chilled magnum of champagne, the bottom dripping droplets of condensation on the white tablecloth. I put my hand down to wipe it off, then leave it there a second, palm-down, reminiscent of her. I look into Christian's eyes, wait for the realisation to edge in. He looks back, benignly. If he does know the game we are embroiled in, he's keeping his cards close to his chest.

I hold up the elegant champagne flute, watch the liquid effervesce at the mere movement. He holds his up, until we are aligned in perfect asymmetry.

"A toast," he says. "To you, Mrs Grey. The only girl I'll ever love."

I falter. _You don't really believe that do you? _The voice is with me again, like a ghost, haunting and goading. I force myself to lift my glass, to make contact with his in a satisfying chink, and then I press the delicate lip of the flute against my own lip and drink.


	8. Chapter 8

Note from Riottori: Enjoy (?)

The oysters are placed in front of me. They smell of deceit, fragrant steam rising in billowing fingers, toying with my senses, cloying to me. My stomach turns.

"Teddy phoned me today," Christian begins, normalcy returning. _I don't want to talk about the children, _I think. _I don't want to be Mom. _I watch him prepare an oyster, those long fingers playing with the core of it. He looks like he's cutting out a heart.

"Open your mouth," he commands, softly, quietly, as if we're alone and not surrounded by other diners. His eyes bore into me, penetrative as a drill.

I open my mouth and find my voice. "Stop it," I say, the sound a whisper, dead on my lip. "Just stop it." How can I play this game? How have we become these players? I don't know the rules that he has written.

"What?" he asks, surprise washing over his beautiful features. "Ana, what's wrong?" His hand still proffers the oyster, his wedding ring glints like a knife.

"What's wrong?" I ask, my voice escalating as I rise from my chair. "How could you Christian? How could you do this to me? After everything we've been through?" The cliches spill from my lips, but they're not enough. They sound too trite to convey how I really feel, to make the impact that needs to be made. They've been said a million times by others; they are borrowed; hand-me-downs. I need words that belong to just me, just us. They'll never exist.

"Ana?" His face is a grotesque carnival mask of realisation. He knows what I know, what I've seen. If anguish were a tangible, palpable thing, it would be the look on his face.

"I want you to remember this," I say, my voice echoing my words from earlier. "Remember this feeling, for the rest of your life. When you're at work, remember me, when you're at home, remember me. Remember us, what we were, what we had. What you ended. Good bye, Sir."

I tumble out of the restaurant on legs that don't feel like mine and pound down the street. I wend my way through the series of back-alleys I have planned out to reach my car, creating a labyrinth for him to get lost in, a game of my own.

Only when I reach the unassuming motel where he'll never think to look for me, check in under an assumed name and sink down onto the well-worn bed, do I exhale the breath I've been holding for days.

I wake, early. The sun peeks shyly through the slice of shutter, not wanting to disturb me from my restless slumber. The memory of the night before floods over me, has been threatening to crash over me like a wave all night. I don't want sun, I think. I want rain and sleet and nature at its worst. I roll over and remember.

_"__So, Ms Steele," my psychiatrist said. "Talk." Such a simple imperative, such a simple rule to follow. One even I wouldn't have difficulty obeying._

_I had found my own Doctor Flynn and I didn't like her very much. She prodded and probed and was cold. She was just what I needed. No sugar-coating, no BS. Dr Flynn belonged to Christian and this Dr Black belonged to me. Even her name was cold – Black, the absence of light._

_I had given her the bare bones to pick over in previous sessions, Christian and me in a nut-shell: my husband used to be a Dom though I was never his Sub, he had had a hideous childhood, had started to heal and loved me, very much. I was the reason for the healing of his scars – I knew that. We had two children, 12 and 10. Each fact was noted down on a jotter and marked by a sharp little nod. Our relationship fit onto a sheet of paper. _

_"__Well, it's been...seven...no...wow...eight years since we've had anything other than vanilla," I began, looking anywhere but at Dr Black. _

_"__And you miss the, let's call it, chocolate?" I winced. This was harder than I'd thought. _

_"__Yes and no." She sat back, allowing me to elaborate. "Yes, because it was something we shared and something I..." I gulped, "I learnt to enjoy."_

_"__Enjoyed or tolerated?" Dr Black asked._

_I took a deep breath. "Enjoyed." Was she judging me? I wondered. Her face remained as impassive as the wall behind her. A small nod and I continued. "My husband wanted to both control and please me. It was only once about pain and that time nearly destroyed us. He never, ever, over-stepped the limit again." I involuntarily shuddered, remembering the pain that day almost 13 years ago in The Red Room. The internal and external pain. He had almost been lost to me, he'd almost made himself lost to me. We'd come a long way since then._

_"__And no," I said. "No, I don't miss it because of what it means. That my husband has finally healed, that he's cured. He no longer needs that control, sex in those terms." I was speaking the words of Dr Flynn now. _

_"__You don't believe that." I looked up sharply at her. It was a statement, not a question._

_"__I don't know," I said_

_"__Ms Steele, if you do believe that he is cured, you wouldn't be here, talking to me. I think you believe that he still needs the pleasure found in chocolate." _

_At that moment I hated her, irrationally and forcefully hated her. You didn't want BS, I reminded myself. Take the truth, baby._

_"__I'm going to deconstruct this for you. There are some people – men and women – who are thrill-seekers, adrenaline-junkies, call them what you will. They are always looking for the next high. You know, the ones who jump out of planes, bungee jump, put themselves in danger." I nodded, thinking I could name a few. "There are others who are always looking for the 'new', the unexplored, the – perhaps – unobtainable. They don't know if they can get what they want but they sure enjoy the process of trying to get it. You told me that you weren't your husband's Sub, although he had you ear-marked as one."_

_"__Yes." The word escaped me, low and slow._

_"__You were a challenge. A challenge that 'paid off' in the sense that he married you and had your children." I allowed myself a small smile, thinking of myself as a 'pay-off'._

_"__I don't doubt that your husband loves you very much, Ms Steele. You helped him heal, helped him to love. He will always be indebted to you, I'm sure. But believing that he has given up his quest for the 'new' is like believing an adrenaline-junkie won't take up a new extreme sport."_

_I felt tears prick at my lids. The ghost of a voice I had been suppressing whirled in my head. But you'd already worked that out, it said. Out with the old and in with the new._

_"__But I was willing to experiment with him," I replied. "More than willing. It was he who didn't want to." _

_"__Yes, but because he experimented with you, you weren't a challenge anymore. He conquered you. I don't mean to be blunt, Ms Steele," Dr Black. "I could glide over this subject, tell you that he has broken some mould, but in my experience, he will probably always crave the new. Now, whether he acts on it or not is another thing..." _

_She arched an eyebrow, the movement awakening my anger._

_"__You don't even know him," I shouted, knocking her neat little flower arrangement to the floor, as I turned the coffee-table over in my haste to get up and out. The vase shattered on the cold, stone floor._

_"__Calm down, Ms Steele."_

_"__He would never... He loves me"_

_"__Love and sex are two different things..."_

_"__Not to me," I screamed, my voice-box inflamed and raw. "And not to him."_

_I slammed the door behind me, the bang final, like the sealing of our fate. _


	9. Chapter 9

Note from Riottori: This next segment is from Christian's POV as many of you have requested. I hope you enjoy it. That's all for tonight as I'm off out to remember what 3-dimensional people look like! I promise I will post more tomorrow. Sweet dreams.

I've had three days of dark since she left me. I'm sure the sun has risen, made its familiar trajectory across the sky, East to West, it's just I haven't been aware of it, haven't been affected by it. The rays have failed to touch me. I am living in a world blanched of colour, a sepia hell of my own making. A world without light, without my Ana.

What have I done?

_She stood abruptly before me, as my hand held out an oyster, pain looming black in her irises, darkening the brilliant blue of her eyes._

_"__What's wrong?" she asked, her voice dripping sarcasm. "How could you Christian? How could you do this to me? After everything we've been through?" I wondered if she'd slapped me, actually made physical contact with me. But she hadn't. It was just her words that had ricocheted off my body, tattooing my skin with small scars. _

_I took a breath to say her name, call her to me, stop her from slipping away. It hung heavy on my lips: Ana. Desperation ran deep through the two syllables: Please, please..._

_I tried to focus on what she was saying, the fate that she would decide. Would we live or die? Oh, God. What had I done?_

_"__I want you to remember this. Remember this feeling," I wanted to move, move towards her, but my fear paralyzed me, rooted me to my spot on the chair. "When you're at work, remember me," her words like a curse, the final fairy in Sleeping Beauty. "When you're at home, remember me. Remember us," I was finding it hard to breathe, "what we were, what we had." I noted the past tense with a rising panic. No, Ana, please. "What you ended. Goodbye, Sir." I had ended my own world and I only had myself to blame. After that, came the dark._

Taylor enters the office and I look up expectantly. He shakes his head, no. The noise that escapes me is animalistic, raw in its frustration.

"Where the fuck is she?" I shout. "Ana, where are you?"

_By the time I had found my feet and lurched out of Lorenzo's, she had gone. I had driven that night – why had I driven and not Taylor? Maybe things would be different now – and I spent the night like a thief skulking round the streets, looking for her, trying to get back what was mine. When the bleaching dawn began to paint the sky, robbing it of its dusky hue, I drove home, defeated, exhausted. I had done all I could and it wasn't enough. I would wait for her at the Penthouse, our house. I would wait for my wife to return. _

I punch Teddy's number into the phone, feel my anxiety rising with each tinny ring. I cast my eyes skyward, a silent supplication as I wait.

"Teddy-boy," I say when my son finally answers.

"Dad," he says. He sounds sleepy and young. "What time is it?"

I realise I have no idea. Days meld into nights meld into days again. A wide expanse of waiting gapes in front of me, a chasm with no horizon, no end. Time is meaningless, inconsequential. It will start again when she returns. _God! How did I not know it would feel like this?_

"A little after 8," I say. "Sorry if I woke you."

"It's OK," he says, swallowing his words in a large yawn. "What's up?" I check for anger in his voice, something to show he's spoken to his mother and knows what's happened. I feel off-balance and unsure. Ana and I always liked to be on the same page when it came to the kids. I didn't know how to handle this.

"Nothing," I say. "I just wanted to say hi. Hi." I laugh, an empty sound which hangs heavy in the air. "Have you spoken to your mother recently?" I try for non-chalance but I'm sure the cracks can be heard in my words.

"Yeah, yesterday, nah, two days ago. Why? Is something up?"

I rush to reassure him. "No, it's just that I'm in Escala and she's at home. I had some business in the city and didn't want to rely on Taylor so I stayed here. I'll probably head over this afternoon." The lies tumble from my mouth.

I hear Teddy yawn again. "I'll phone you later," I promise. "Teddy, did she..." I don't know how to finish this sentence. _Teddy, did she say where she was? Teddy, did she seem OK to you? Teddy, did she sound like she was as desperate as I am?_ But the words are stuck in my throat. He is my son and his protection is paramount. I can't let him into my circle of worry, not just yet.

"I'll phone you later." But I've already lost my son to sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

Note from Riottori: _Here's a bit more for your reading pleasure. Just wanted to say that Christian's problem with Ana's C-section scar is not that he is bothered by scars - as some of you have pointed out, his torso is filled with them - more that he's having difficulty reconciling her as the mother of his children and as his companion in The Room. Sorry if I confused a few of you. Also, the 'room' in the Escala is called "The Red Room" and the 'room' at home is just simply, "The Room". Anyhoo, on with the story (now back to Ana's POV):_

The couple next door rouse me from sleep again. I leave my dreamworld, reluctantly. It's a world where my husband hasn't cheated, where he is lying next to me, where his eyes will flicker open as he joins me in the real world, the world we have made together and I will be the first thing he sees. Will I really never wake to that again? The thought spikes my heart. Soon there will be no more heart left to hurt. And then I will be better.

I hear the girl's giggle again through the paper-thin walls of the motel. The sound throws another wave of grief over me. Life's continuing, people are happy, the thought is almost too much to bear. _Pull yourself together. _The voice has followed me here, crept in through the walls while I slept. No-one's found me but the voice. _Get up! _

I pull back the covers, push away the heavy blanket that has cocooned me all night, has comforted me with its weight. I reach for the bag of groceries that I have stored under the desk and take out the carton of juice. The straw makes a satisfying 'pop' as it pierces the foil hole. I drink, the liquid soothing my ragged throat, tight from swallowing back the tears, swallowing down the hurt.

_That's it, _the voice cajoles. _Step one: you're up. Now get in the shower._ I obey the voice like its my master. I don't know what else to do.

_I had left Dr Black's office in a haze of hatred, stumbled into the street as her words swarmed around me, aggressive as summer wasps. He would never cheat, I told myself. I am enough. What we have is too precious. He knows that._

_Love and sex are two different things. It was the kind of statement I could imagine coming from Kate's mouth years ago. It would have been rewarded with an eye-roll from me. Now it was rewarded with the turning of a table and the breaking of a vase, it would seem. _

_I know my husband, I thought again, as I found my feet and walked decisively towards the car. He'd never given me cause to doubt him. Why was I allowing these demons of doubt to live? I am enough, I am enough. My mantra kept time with my quickening step and beating heart._

_But you were wrong, weren't you?_ The voice fills the dingy shower cubicle, envelopes me. I try to push it out. I don't want to remember. The wound hasn't even fully closed yet but the voice penetrates the same spot again. _Why won't you let me heal? I implore. Please..._

The voice laughs its response. _What was the __**real**__ problem with this one, Ana? Too young? Too much like you? Why did you suddenly grow a back-bone?_

The water pounds on my scalp but does not drown out the voice. _Because she was getting 'more'. __**My**__ bit, _I shout._ What was left for me? _I rip the scab off. The wound gapes open, dangerously. I may bleed to death.

_I knew someone had been in the apartment in Escala; I could sense the alien presence, intrusion like moisture hung in the air. I trailed my hand over the back of the couch. No, the intruder hadn't been there. Down the corridor, yes, they'd been here. Into our bedroom, no, the trail went cold. I turned and edged closer to The Red Room. I didn't know what I was searching for but it was my demons that had led me here and I was following the path they had carved out. I suppose that I'd never really stopped looking for clues over the years. Clues to catch my husband out._

_I slotted the key into the lock. It fit with ease, allowed me access. Carefully, like a trespasser in my own home, I pushed the door open and entered. I hadn't been in here for years, even longer with him, but the smell of the mahogany, the warmth of the wood brought me back to the beginning. I could not feel anyone else's presence in here, just his, like it always had been, always would be. The feeling was intoxicating, overwhelming, all-consuming. I moved into the womb of the room, permitted it to swallow me up. I ran my hand along the red bed, remembering. Were these really my memories? This life of mine when this room existed to us seemed like many lives ago. _

_I wandered over to the wardrobe where he'd kept his tools, his box of tricks as we'd called them. I opened the door which creaked its greeting back to me. I had never opened it in his presence but knew the contents like they belonged to me. Many a time I had stood in front of this wardrobe, our dirty little secret becoming a secret of my own. I had counted the floggers and whips and chains that he had never used on me. They hung in the dark; a promise, a threat._

_It was the extra flogger that made me catch my breath, made my heart skip a vital beat. A flogger I did not recognise, was a stranger in the flock. An imposter. I grabbed it, pulled it out, pulled it taut, tried to punish it so it would speak to me. What are you doing in there? I don't know you. It stayed silent, obeying its master._

_You know what it's doing there, the voice crept in. And you know that you were looking for it. Satisfied, baby? And so began the slow yet sudden dimming of my sun._


	11. Chapter 11

NOTE FROM RIOTTORI: APOLOGIES GUYS. THIS SHOULD BE TAGGED ONTO THE END OF CHAPTER 10 (BUT I DON'T KNOW HOW TO DO IT!) THIS ENDS ANA'S MEMORY OF HOW SHE 'CAUGHT' CHRISTIAN. I THINK I'LL MOVE ON TO THE PRESENT AND C'S POV. ALSO, THE ITALICS AND PAST TENSE SHOW FLASHBACKS, ALL THE REST IS THE PRESENT. SORRY IF THAT WAS UNCLEAR. SOME OF YOU MAY BE ANGRY WITH ANA AFTER THIS (I'M A LITTLE ANGRY WITH HER MYSELF) BUT BEAR WITH US, I BESEECH YOU! ; )

_I had exited The Red Room, closed the door behind me and locked it up. Then, I had gone into his office. All these actions were performed as if I were in a dream – it was this dream-like state that I found myself existing in, to cope, to survive. It smoothed down the edges of the hurt, rounded them off. I was not hysterical, I was not the scorned woman, not the woman on the edge. I was efficient and methodical, looking for the clues I needed to know about this side of my husband, this sickening shade of his: black for betrayal._

_I found the NDA in a file innocuously marked: Business Plans. My surprisingly calm hand leafed through the papers that held my hurt, the powerful black print that could unravel my world. I found the contract easily after that, and had sat in my husband's high-backed office chair to read it. _

_A scrawled signature, a name I couldn't make out, had sealed my fate – a girl with awful handwriting. Funny the things you think at a time like this._

_My husband and this girl-of-the-messy-handwriting had agreed to meet once a week in our Escala home for the period of one month (although he could extend this contract if he so wanted). She would be his 'Sub', he her 'Dom'. The soft and hard limits had not changed since my day although he was less fussy about what she ate and wore, I noted. I must have broken him of that habit. I had blazed the trail._

_I didn't cry. Odd that I didn't cry. Love and sex, wife and sub, two very different things, apparently. I would have to phone Dr Black, tell her she had been right. I breathed in deeply, my next move determining the rest of my life (or so I thought at the time). _

_I got up and went home and made dinner for my family. _


	12. Chapter 12

NOTE FROM RIOTTORI: WARNING: NOT FOR THE FAINT-HEARTED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

My computer pings at me, signalling a message and I run to it, rabid for news. It's from her. My wife. My Ana. After five days of going underground, she has re-surfaced.

**From: Anastasia Steele **

**Subject: Meeting**

**To: Christian Grey**

**Christian,**

**We need to talk. Meet me at Escala at 8.**

I type back with shaking hands. It's been a long time since she has inspired this level of emotion in me. I'm like the teenager I never was, never had the chance to be. Love-sick and scared.

It's on the second read of the message that I notice the name-change. The red-hot sparks of anger catch and bloom like matches. _My smart-ass wife is back, _I think. _I've really missed her._

I can't concentrate on anything all day. I watch the clock, the hands seeming to taunt me with their slow rotation. I silently will time to speed up, for evening to come so I can see her. She is all I can think about, has been for days. I just need her to come back to me, be mine again. All mine.

I turn the key in the elevator and ride up to the Penthouse, my anxiety heightening the higher I go. I don't think I've ever been this excited, this high, this alive. I step into our apartment and into the unknown.

I hear her call my name the minute the elevator door whooshes closed. I rush to her, following the direction of her voice. It guides me to The Room. The door is open. I enter.

She is standing by the bed, fully clothed, fingering our favourite tie. I stop where I am, wait for her to tell me what to do. A frisson of excitement pulses in the room, emanating from me. She must be able to sense it; she must be affected by it.

"Christian," she says. My name on her lips sounds like home.

I swallow sharply, attempting to stem the swelling tide of feeling. "Ana, you're back. Why do you always leave me for five days?"

"Oh, Christian." Her tone is mocking. Playful Ana comes to life in front of me. "I'm not back. I'm _far_ from back." Her words spill slowly from her mouth like snakes.

She steps towards me, her pupils so dilated in the half-light that her eyes seem midnight black.

"I want an explanation. I want to know why. And you are going to tell me." I feel myself lose my footing, I'm reeling out of control.

"What's the tie for?" I whisper.

"You. Sit. Now."

She ties my hands together behind me, expertly. I could wriggle free if I wanted, but I don't. She holds my gaze all the while, feeling her way blind until I am attached to the bed-post.

She tugs hard, admiring her work.

"How does it feel, Christian?" she asks.

"Good. Tight." My reply is gruff.

"This is the way it's going to work," she says, heading to my box of tricks. "I am going to ask you some questions." She opens the door and reaches in, each movement graceful and precise. I can't take my eyes off her. "If I believe you are lying in your responses or holding something back, I will punish you." Her hand comes out of the wardrobe, clutching a long cane. "Do you understand?"

"Yes," I say. At this point I will do anything she asks.

"Good." In two strides she is in front of me and I see the hurt etched on her beautiful face and that is my real punishment.

"Ana, I'm..."

"Silence." She bites off my apology. "How many were there? How many Subs after me?"

"Ten." My reply has a physical effect on her, I see her sway on her feet.

"Did you bring them home?" she demands, rolling the cane around her pure white palm.

"No. Just to the Escala."

"Did you ever see them outside The Room?"

"No."

"DON'T LIE TO ME!" She pours her hatred over me, her anger, her hurt. I raise my face up to her to be covered in it. It's all I deserve.

"Yes. With one." Her intake of breath is audible.

"Do you love her?" I can see her physically bracing herself for my answer.

"God, Ana! No! You're the only one I will EVER love." Emotion explodes around us. _What the fuck have I done?_

"Why?"

I blink. What is she asking me?

"Why what?" I lower my head, expecting a hard hit for my insolence. I wait. It doesn't come.

"Why did you need them? Why wasn't I enough?" She's crying now, her questions coming out in choking sobs.

"You were, Ana. Please, baby." I look up at her, disgusted with what I've done, this Ana I've created.

"I tried to give you everything you wanted. I tried to be everything to you. You were MY everything. Why wasn't I enough?"

I shake my head. No answer will ever be good enough.

"I want honesty, Christian. I deserve that. Please."

"I didn't think I needed The Room anymore."

"But you did." Her voice is soft as a whisper. I can barely hear her.

I hang my head but she throws the cane down and grabs it in her hands and pulls it up so we're eye-to-eye, pain pouring through the narrow gap between us.

"Yes. But I promise you, I resisted for years. Years." I can't hide the anguish in my voice. "I couldn't...I couldn't take you in there anymore."

"Why?" Her breath flutters over my eyelids.

"I don't know. It didn't feel right."

She lets a laugh escape from her – it's hollow, flecked with ice.

"Because I was the mother of your children."

I nod, taking her hands with me in the movement.

"Ana, I'm so sorry."

She presses her forehead to mine so we're almost one.

"Me too," she soothes. "Me too. I'm sorry you broke us and I'm sorry that we can't be fixed."


	13. Chapter 13

NOTE FROM RIOTTORI: THANKS TO ALL OF YOU WHO ARE READING AND COMMENTING. IF YOU ARE A GUEST, PLEASE LOG IN SO I CAN RESPOND TO YOUR MESSAGES. SOME PEOPLE HAVE WRITTEN SOME COMMENTS THAT I WOULD LOVE TO REPLY TO. HERE'S SOME MORE:

* * *

Ten. Ten. Ten. Like ten little fingers, ten little toes. Ten little Subs. I almost fall down, admit defeat. Give up, the battle lost. I sway a little on my feet but the voice urges me on. _Ask him, Ana. Find out more. He's not going anywhere._

We planned this together, the voice and I, this meeting in The Red Room, the place where it all began; the origin of my hurt, this is where it lives. We didn't want him to run away from the bitter truth he had created, didn't want his lies. For eight long years now, I've been inhabiting my dream-world where everything is a hazy hue, where I can look my husband in the eye without hinting at my hurt, where I buried the truth deep down, in the deep well inside me. There lived my self-esteem, too. And my self-worth. Shades of old Ana.

Ten. Ten. Their sheer number makes them swarm together in my head, cardboard-cutout Subs. They glide towards me, on a conveyor belt, each one brunette, each one with a submissive little face that looks like mine. Except the last one. The last one is special, she stands a little taller than the others. As she passes me she smirks. It's the last one that got my 'more', that dragged me from my dream-world back to the real-world.

* * *

_I'd gone to see Christian at work a few weeks back. It was a surprise visit from his loving wife. I'd even made him lunch – can you get more submissive than that? – and I was swinging the basket laden with treats as I headed to his office. Mrs Grey, striding along like she owned the place. What a fool. Little did I know I was striding straight into hell._

_Helen or Jane – I don't know which one – stood abruptly when I rounded the corner. She'd tried to stop me from entering the office (see, he had identical Blondes, too) she knew something was going on. God, how embarrassing. If she only knew the true depth of his betrayal, just how deep his treachery ran._

_I pushed open the heavy oak door._

_A slim brunette was standing in front of my husband, her hair in a demure ponytail, her head slightly stooped. My husband was reclining in his chair, feet up on the desk, a gesture of dominance. The big boss. The air crackled with electricity, a frisson of sexual tension. My presence had broken the spell._

_My husband eased his long legs down from the desk but the girl just stood there, her back to me. He just managed to remove the last trace of surprise from his face – he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar and he knew it – as he moved towards me._

_"__Ana, what a nice surprise!"_

_The girl turned slowly. A swiveling ballerina in a music box. _

_Christian put his possessive arms around me. I was still watching the girl over his shoulder. Her face was impassive but I knew. I could feel it. I'd been looking for it._

_Christian stepped back, one hand on my wrist, the other reaching out to the girl. "Ana, this is Alice. She's new."_

_The voice cackled in my ear at my husband's choice of words._

_I composed myself as I had learnt to over the past eight years. I extended my hand to accept hers. It was small and warm, suppliant. Perfect. I squeezed it a little, as I smiled at her. Then a little harder. She smiled right back at me. And then squeezed back her response. Hard. I drew my hand away quickly, not because it hurt but because I knew what it meant. A back-bone, a smart-mouth. Oh. Christian. What are you doing?_

_"__I'd better get back to work. Sir." The way my husband's face changed when she uttered that last word, a tacit agreement between them that excluded me, left me out in the cold, told me everything I needed to know. That very afternoon I went and purchased the wig._

* * *

I don't know why I didn't say anything to him then and there. Shock? Fear? It's hard to say something that may cause your world to stop turning, to be an active agent in its collapse.

_It's because you were weak, _the voice explains._ But you're not anymore._

_No, _I concede. _I can never go back to the way I was. Little Ana, the good little wife. Isn't it funny that for him to get me back, the Ana that had been lost to him, I'd have to leave him. _The voice and I laugh at the irony.

* * *

Our foreheads are pressed together, me standing over him, him at my feet. We have been like this for an eternity it seems. If we break away, we break the spell. _Break it, _the voice urges. _Break him. He broke you after all._

I peel away. I feel hollow, an empty shell. My bruised heart rattles inside. Soon there will be no heart left to hurt. Soon. Not just yet.

"I have to leave."

"No, Ana, please." Fear has seeped in.

I shake my head and start to untie him. He tries to stop me.

"Just leave me here, like this." He's shouting at me now. "If you're going to leave me again, just leave me here."

I look at a point on the blood-red wall behind his head and start to undo the knot. I cannot look at him.

"Ana. Talk to me, baby. Please. We can work this out. We'll go to Flynn..."

_A little too late for that, Mr Grey. _The voice taunts my troubled husband. I close it out.

"No, Christian. I have to leave you. It's the only way."

"YOU SAID YOU'D NEVER LEAVE ME!" His anger makes me stronger, fortifies my will.

"And I thought I'd be enough. Looks like we were both wrong." I sound resigned and tired. So, so tired.

"THEY DIDN'T MEAN ANYTHING TO ME. IT WAS JUST SEX." We're back to talking in cliches. No, I deserve more than that.

"I saw you. You and Alice. Last week. It's not just about sex with that one." My voice is as quiet as a whisper on the wind.

He groans, a gutteral sound, and I know I'm right.

"Let me explain, please." He's free now, raised veins criss-crossing his hands like mountain ranges. He's reaching for me.

"No." Simple. No.

He grabs my shoulders. "Yes."

"How do you not see that nothing you say will erase the damage you've done? I've turned a blind eye for eight years. Eight years!" I scoff at the masochist in me.

"You knew?! Why didn't you tell me. I would have stopped..."

"You can't stop. It's who you are, Christian. I didn't care about the others as much as I thought I would." I realise as soon as I've said it that it is true."But with her...I can't. I can't **not** care. You should **want** me to care." I start to back out the door but he holds me, prevents me from moving. " Let go, Christian. You have to let go."

"I can't lose you Ana. I'll give Alice up, I'll never go into The Room again, I'll give it all up for you. The only reason I liked her was because she was so like you." A small sigh escapes him, the sort of sigh we make when we reminisce.

"I CAN'T EVEN REMEMBER WHO I WAS. WHO WAS I CHRISTIAN?!" My shout startles me.

"You were Ana, my Ana. You are Ana." He starts to sob and another part of my heart is chipped away. I take another step back. This time he doesn't stop me.


	14. Chapter 14

_NOTE FROM RIOTTORI: MORE FLASHBACKS FROM CHRISTIAN'S POV. THANKS AGAIN FOR ALL THE COMMENTS_

_My feet pounded the path as I tore through the park. Already I could feel the familiar burn through my limbs, the pleasurable pain of adrenaline coursing through my veins. I ran on, trying to break through the wall of pain, tried to feel alive. Maybe this would help._

_It didn't. Nothing did. I visited Flynn, I played with my kids, I made love to my wife. Shit, I even took up running. All displacement activities, all ways to take my mind off The Room. _

_I visited it in my dreams, would wake sweating, my hand clenched around some imaginary whip. That's when I went to see Flynn. But slowly, slowly, the dreams began to penetrate my waking life, to drip in. Contaminate. I would find myself at work, lost to a forgotten life in The Room, staring into space._

_Ana wanted to go with me. She had offered herself to me. But I couldn't. How could I take her in there? My wife, my life. No, it was wrong. She was the mother of my children, her breasts had fed my boy, my girl. How could I truss her up, touch her body with anything other than love? Gratitude? I could worship her body in the comforting cream of our bedroom but not in The Red Room. Not Ana. Not anymore. _

_I didn't know I would feel like that. The final time we tried The Room, I was excited. I would be getting Ana back as mine, all mine. Not a Mommy anymore. I was aroused when I'd entered, saw her conforming, the submissive posture adopted perfectly. I couldn't wait to touch her, I was greedy then, like I had been when I'd first met her, when I had to make her mine. My commands were barked at her, gruff with lust._

_I ran my fingers through her pig-tailed hair, down her neck, over her full breasts. I could feel her automatic reaction to my touch. She never failed in her faithful desire of me. Her skin was as familiar to me as my own and it goose-bumped as I knew it would. I traced a forbidden line down, across her belly. The ridge of her scar slowed me, its ragged pink edges marking her as mother. Fight it, I thought. I touched her again, imagined her prostrate on the bed, begging for release, her skin pink under my controlling hand. It didn't feel right. I couldn't do it. Not anymore. We left The Room and had our fill of Vanilla._

_I had never known such self-control in the years that followed, such restraint. I was proud of myself for playing the part of husband. For the first time in my life I felt 'normal'. I honestly thought I had conquered my desire, my need to be a Dom. Vanilla with my wife was all I needed. At last. _

_How wrong I had been. _

_It ambushed me one night when I was alone. It seemed, looking back, that all the events surrounding that night were channeled in the direction of our reunion. Ana and the kids were in Georgia visiting her mother and the hasty phone-call I made did little to fortify me against the power of The Red Room. Flynn was out-of-town too, his mobile switched off, Goddamn him. My desire had grown so large by then, that it overpowered me, alone in Escala, brought me to my knees. I had turned my back on it for so long that I hadn't properly monitored its progress. It had grown and swollen by itself. My attempts to ignore it were futile. I tried to turn from it again but it covered me like a cloak and dragged me back. I was its prey. It had won. That night I found my next Sub._

* * *

_I was surprised I still remembered the formalities of obtaining a Sub. I had photocopied the NDA and a copy of the contract while I waited for her to meet me in my office at Escala. My fingers drummed the table, keeping time with my racing heart._

_You can do this, I coaxed myself. You need to take charge. This is what you've been missing. You'll do this for a month and it will be enough._

_At one point I almost canceled, almost phoned her to tell her not to come. But she arrived early and I knew there was no way back. _

_The minute I met her, I knew she wouldn't be good enough. She was wearing too much make-up and smelt of cheap perfume. My first order to her when we signed the paperwork was to get in the shower, scrub herself clean. I wanted her to be like a new canvas. How could I go back to Ana smelling of her? Touch my wife with hands that reeked of fake Lily of the Valley?_

_I swung open the door to The Red Room and heard her small gasp. It made me feel powerful._

_"__I've never seen so much equipment," she drawled, her accent annoying me._

_"__Silence."_

_I walked her through the rules, the rigmarole, a speech I had made many times before. I remembered them like lines in a play and this was a role I was reprising. I left her to assume her position while I changed into my faded jeans._

* * *

_She was very experienced, perhaps too experienced. She left me cold. I had taken out the new flogger, the one I had purchased just for her, had flicked it over her. She had not cried out once. It was as if she was made of stone; she was as cold as a boulder. I needed more. I wanted to incite desire not beat the shit out of little brown haired girls anymore. She gave me nothing, my most impassive submissive. I bored of her in the first hour. _

_I canceled the contract as soon as we had finished. I couldn't stand a month of her. She didn't seem to care. And then I booked an emergency meeting with Flynn._


	15. Chapter 15

NOTE FROM RIOTTORI: THANKS FOR THE COMMENTS. I KNOW A LOT OF YOU HAVE QUESTIONS AND I'M WORKING ON ANSWERING THEM, I PROMISE. SOME OF YOU HAVE ASKED ME HOW FAR I'M GOING TO TAKE THIS STORY. I THINK THERE'S STILL SO MUCH TO EXPLORE (AND BOY, AM I HAVING FUN DOING IT) THAT I'M JUST GOING TO CONTINUE UNTIL LOOSE ENDS ARE TIED UP AND YOUR QUESTIONS ARE ANSWERED. NOW FOR SOME 'MORE':

How did I not know it would feel like this? How could I have been so short-sighted? The other time that I've felt pain like this - so intense it is almost physical - pure pain that I've allowed myself to remember, is when she left me before. That had hurt so much because it was the taking away of my future, and what we could be. This time, it is the taking away of my past, my present. Why did I do it? What possessed me?

We communicate through the cold, distant medium of e-mail. She could always express herself more with the written word. That's no longer true. I can't hear emotion in her messages, they have been stripped of feeling and that's what worries me the most. It feels like she's given up. I try to penetrate the wall she has erected, to try to explain. All messages that are not about the logistics of our lives (our new, separate lives) are returned back. It has taken amazing restraint for me not to follow her. I want to run home, to her office, wherever she is, batter down the door and make her talk to me. I want to prove I will never do anything like that again if she'll just come back to me. But I'm afraid that the cold, sterile tone of her e-mails will be there, in her eyes. And I can't bear to see it. So, I will respect her wishes and I pray that soon, she will be ready to talk, to put back the broken pieces of our life.

I'm not living in Escala. I couldn't bear to go back there. The ghost of the past, the past I had killed, breathed in every room. I'm living in a hotel until Ana tells me that it's time to come home.

We have told the children that we have separated but have given them no indication of for how long. A month? A year? Forever? Even a day feels like forever to me. Teddy is handling it better than Phoebe and when I looked into her eyes when she visited me last week, they were Ana's eyes shining back, awash with sadness.** I** had done that to my baby girl. What have I done?

I haven't seen Alice since this all began. I contacted her to terminate her work contract and gave her a sizeable payout. She said she didn't want the money, she just wanted to see me. I declined. Our other contract, the one that she hasn't signed yet, lurks in a drawer in my suite. I don't know what to do with it.

* * *

_I had advertised for a new assistant. It had started as innocently as that. The photograph that was attached to her resume showed her as blonde. That was why she got an interview – I only hire blondes at work. She looked lovely in her photograph, how Ana would look if she dyed her hair. I scheduled the interview and thought no more about it._

_She actually fell into the office. I couldn't believe it, I thought it was the intensest daydream I'd ever had; a memory of Ana from all those years ago, a mind-trick. Fate sure had a sick sense of humour._

_My body made the exact same path it had 20 years before. I helped her up, put her back on her feet again. I felt an overwhelming surge of desire when my eyes found her face, so familiar yet new. This was the feeling I'd been seeking with each new Sub in The Red Room and hadn't found. Hope bloomed somewhere deep inside._

_"__Miss Thomas?" She smoothed her skirt down and extended her hand in one smooth movement. I could see her embarrassment and I wondered how she would recover herself._

_"__Mr Grey," she replied. "Well that was quite a spectacular entrance. I'd give myself 9 out of 10 for amazing first-impressions!" Her voice was self-deprecating yet bold – a beguiling mix. It made me laugh. I watched her visibly relax a little at the sound. _

_I led her to the chair positioned opposite mine, excitement pulsing through my veins. I sat down but she didn't. She was waiting for me to tell her to sit. I took in a deep breath to calm myself and gestured for her to be seated._

_"__You're brunette," I said, my voice steady and controlled._

_She blinked at me, confused for a second, then her hand went up to her hair. She pushed it behind her ear on one side allowing me access to a view of her high cheek-bone, a little more of a look at her face._

_"__Oh, you must have an old photo." She'd groaned then, a sound that was out-of-place in my office. It sounded intimate. "I had to dye my hair for a part in a play. Needless to say, I made an awful blonde. I can't believe that's the photo I sent." She rolled her eyes. The action invoked a visceral reaction in me. _

_"__You're better brunette," I said. I'd spoken softly so she'd had to lean in to hear. And then she'd giggled and she was just like Ana, before she was mine. And I had to make this girl mine. I __**had**__ to._

* * *

_I couldn't sleep that night. I lay beside Ana, heard her steady breathing, untroubled. The guilt of something I hadn't even done was unbearable. What bothered me the most about my recent trips to The Red Room was that I didn't feel that bad. It had taken me sessions with Flynn to admit this. He explained why: I had become two different Christians: Old and Evolved Christian. Old Christian, the one who still craved control, who needed to visit The Red Room, and Evolved Christian, who could be touched without flinching anymore, who was a happily married father of two. For me the Two Christians were so separated, their territory so clearly defined, that I didn't feel guilty. I wasn't giving the Subs any of Ana's Evolved Christian, only the Old. That's why I could look her in the eye over the breakfast table, when we made love._

_I'd felt better. Flynn always had that ability._

_But with Alice, the Two Christians were blurring, edging into each other's territories. Could I stop it before it became too late? Before the Two Christians became One?_


	16. Chapter 16

NOTE FROM RIOTTORI: WOW, YOU GUYS ARE REALLY DIVIDED ABOUT THIS STORY. SOME OF YOU WANT A AND C BACK TOGETHER, OTHERS DON'T. THANK YOU FOR READING AND CARING. PLEASE KEEP THE REVIEWS COMING. IT'S WHAT MAKES THIS ALL THE MORE ENJOYABLE.

ONE LAST THING: SOME OF YOU HAVE COMMENTED ON CHAPTER SIZES. I REALISE THAT THEY ARE VERY SHORT (AND A LOT OF FANFIC HAS MUCH LONGER CHAPTERS) BUT I AM PUBLISHING AS I'M GOING. I'M AVERAGING AROUND 2500-3000 WORDS A DAY. I CAN'T WAIT TIL THE END OF THE DAY TO PUBLISH, I CRAVE YOUR COMMENTS TOO MUCH! (I THINK I HAVE INSTANT GRATIFICATION ISSUES, BUT THAT'S ANOTHER STORY!) ANYWAY, ENJOY AND REMEMBER, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW...

I have had her followed. I couldn't stand it anymore: the not knowing what she was up to, not having any control. My guy is discreet (and expensive). I'm waiting for him now. He says he has photos of her. I'm going crazy, torturing myself, imagining the worst, imagining her with other men. I need to know the content of his photos, what they will reveal. I was the only one who had been with her, been in her heart. I can't stand a competitor, an intruder following in my footsteps.

I can see him on the street now, scurrying, head down, inconspicuous. He enters the hotel. He will be with me in less than two minutes. I may combust in that time, become a mound of dust where a man once stood.

He enters the suite, bringing the smell of the street with him. He throws the manilla envelope down on the desk in front of me. It thuds, heavy with its contents. I look at it, sitting there, blankly. I'm desperate to rip it open.

"You ain't gonna like this," he says, provocatively. His words make my heart hammer even harder in my chest. I wonder if he can hear it.

"I'll be the judge of that. Now get out." I want to be alone, I cannot stand his presence. It's better for him, too. I don't know how I'll react if the nightmare pictures I've been imagining prove to be true.

He scuttles out, all false bravado disintegrating at the strength of my command. I take a gulp at the air, try to fill my lungs a final time and reach for the envelope.

* * *

I haven't had any face-to-face contact with Christian in weeks. It's better this way – it keeps me stronger. I worry that if I see him, the wall I have managed to build – from bricks of pain, bricks of anger, bricks of hurt – will come tumbling down. I can't let him get a foot-hold, a hand in the crack or he'll scale the wall and find a way back. The king of the castle. Omnipotent. I don't want that. Not yet. He needs to reach a nadir, to go as low as he can, as low as I have been. I need to punish my husband. _Look at the masochist go! She's taken the path to sadist in one graceful leap. _The voice is my coach. It knows me better than I know myself. Fuck Flynn, Fuck Black. The voice has taught me how to swear, too. Oh, what the voice has taught me.

* * *

_Touch him_. The voice puts thoughts in my mind, makes me act in a way I never thought I would. I thought I'd find Old Ana, regress back to who she was, fit back neatly inside her skin, but I haven't. I'm someone else, another facet, another shade. She scares and surprises me. I don't know if I like her. Time will tell.

I look up at the stranger, the man who has just come over to my table to ask in a sexy, deep voice, if he can borrow some sugar. I nod and pluck a sachet out of the overflowing box. I want to make contact with him, want to see a spark jump like fire in front of my eyes. I suddenly have an urgent thirst for pyromania. I deliberately make skin-on-skin contact with him, allow my thumb to gently brush his finger as I hand him the packet.

He looks down at me, unsmiling yet seemingly charged by the contact. _See the effect you have on men? _I want to believe the voice, want it to instill a confidence in me that I don't really feel.

He turns to leave. _Yeah, I'm irresistible. _I reach for my tea when he turns again.

"Do you mind if I sit here?"

_What do I do? What do I say? _The voice is silent. I'm on my own.

"Sure," I say, a small smile breaking across my lips as I speak.

I watch him assess me, trail his gaze over my face. I am rewarded with a nod, as he eases into the chair opposite me, as if his assessment is over and he is satisfied. I feel myself begin to blush. _Stop it! You're not twenty anymore. Talk to him. He's obviously here for a reason. Look, there's an empty table over there where he could have sat. _The voice is right, I notice with a rush of delight.

"I'm Anastasia," I say, allowing myself a minute to brazenly assess _his_ face, and give my own little nod of approval.

"James."

"Nice to meet you, James."

"You too, Anastasia." My name is drawn out by his mouth, rolled round and enjoyed. I find my heart beating a little quicker. _Well you certainly have a type: tall, dark and brooding, _the voice teases.

"So, James. Are you on your lunch-break?"

"Yes. Taking a much needed break from a very boring day at my office. What about you?"

"The same." I feel nervous. I'm normally a great conversationalist, I don't know why I'm having so much trouble. _Because he's gorgeous. And looking at you like he'd like to lay you over the table, right here, right now._

I take a small gulp as I picture it. Could I do it? Would it feel right? All I'd ever known was Christian. My ragged heart takes another slap.

_Ask him out, _the voice purrs, catching me at a vulnerable ebb.

_I've never asked anyone out before, you know that, _I tell the voice.

_There's a first time for everything. _The voice sometimes sounds like Christian. It's then that I'm sad.

* * *

I have a date: Friday Night with James. The first date I've had in 20 years. I don't know how I feel about this. I'm attracted to him, very attracted to him. We stayed in the coffee shop for over an hour. My tea had grown cold so he ordered me another one. He is 35 – the voice refers to him as my boy toy – a lawyer, divorced, no kids. He's confident, reserved in a self-assured way. It just serves to make him even sexier. Intense green eyes, the colour of moss. Jet-black hair. The whole package. So why did I feel a thud in my gut when he asked me out?


	17. Chapter 17

NOTE FROM RIOTTORI: I'VE RECEIVED A FEW QUESTIONS ABOUT THE 'OTHER' CONTRACT OF ALICE'S THAT CHRISTIAN ALLUDES TO. I'M AFRAID IT'S AN UNSIGNED SUB/DOM CONTRACT. (I CAN ACTUALLY HEAR SOME OF YOU GASP!) SORRY :(

NOW ON WITH THE STORY...

I am getting ready for my date with James. I am meeting him at the restaurant though. Not at home. I don't want him to pick me up from the house I shared with my husband, my family. It feels wrong, like deceit. The voice is angry with me for this decision. It thinks I'm being weak again, its favorite criticism of me. At the moment, we're not talking. It has furled itself up, a rose closing for the night.

I have picked my outfit carefully and I dress, my expensive lingerie like armor. He may not get to see it, but _I'll _know I'm wearing it. I need to know I can look like this, I need to know I do. My self-esteem has been systematically eroded over the past eight years – my husband's lies and infidelity crashing against it, grinding it down to nothing. _Don't just blame him. You did it to yourself. _The voice likes to hit when I'm low. I ignore it and fasten the clasp on my bra.

I have bought a new dress. It wraps around my body, ridiculously expensive and ridiculously flimsy-looking. The fabric is sparked through with silver thread and when I move it catches the light. It makes me as vital as the moon. I smile at my reflection as I wind a silver necklace around my neck, spray perfume behind my ears, run a hand through my hair, which snakes into neat waves.

_I'm ready. _

_Oh yeah? _The voice is snarky and I know what it's going to say. _So why have you spent the whole time getting ready thinking about your husband? Imagining you're getting ready for a date with him?_

* * *

(C's POV)

I smash my hand down hard on the fragile glass coffee-table. It splinters and cracks but doesn't break completely. I am engulfed in anger, rage at its purest red. I don't know what to do with myself.

I get up, pace the suite, a tiger, caged. As I pace and pace and pace, something happens, something changes. I feel the mercury drip inside. The endless grey I had been feeling for the past few weeks since she left me has been replaced with a new color. All I see is red, all I feel is rage. I like it better this way. Much, much better. As the new sensation chases out the old, floods my system, I start to calm. And when I am really in control, I pick my phone up and dial a number. "Get back here, now."

He meets me in the suite and I can tell that he has run all the way back. His ragged breathing makes me feel powerful, like my old self. I hold the photos out to him, my wife's image smudging under my thumb.

"Find out who he is. I'd like to know the name of the man who is fucking my wife."

* * *

James leads me to my car after dinner, his hand in mine. He had reached for it when we left the restaurant and I let him take it. It feels strange – not unpleasant, just new, novel. It doesn't feel like my husband's hand.

We reach the driver's side and I can feel him clasp my hand harder. It causes my heart to beat more rapidly. He pulls me into him, against him, like the start of the Tango, a highly dangerous dance. His eyes burn into mine as he looks at me, they have been burning into mine all evening, deepening in color with each glance. His other hand makes an upward stroke and tilts my face to his. I close my eyes and wait for the kiss, the first foreign kiss in two decades. Funny, I'd always thought Christian would be the last person I'd kiss.

His lips brush mine. It's not really a kiss, more a hint of one. It is slow and soft and tantalisingly sweet. "Anastasia," he whispers against my mouth. "You are so beautiful."

The muscles in my stomach clench at his words and I am absolutely overwhelmed. The feeling inspires me to make a move, for my lips to meet his again. _Good girl,_the voice coaxes. His tongue teases mine as he meets and matches my rising urgency. All my emotion is channeled through my tongue, focused on my mouth and its movement on his.

He breaks away, and looks down at me, surprise evident in his eyes, need affecting his breathing. "Anastasia," he says, again. It sounds like a question._ Not tonight. _That's my voice guiding me now. _This is enough for now. _The other voice scoffs and skulks away. It will sulk all night now.

"I have to go," I say. "I'm sorry. Call me." From the near-feral look in his eye, I know he will. He opens the car door for me but blocks my entry. He reaches for me again, draws me closer, won't let me go. I allow him one more hot, hard kiss. It's as much for him as for me.

As I drive away, I taste him on my lower lip, my own tongue running over where his had been. It tastes good; it tastes like revenge.

NOTE FROM RIOTTORI: THAT'S FOR ALL OF YOU WHO WANT ANA TO HAVE SOME FUN, TOO. I THINK SHE'S SPENT ENOUGH TIME BEING PASSIVE AND SUBMISSIVE, DON'T YOU? ;)


	18. Chapter 18

NOTE FROM RIOTTORI: OK, I'M REALLY INSPIRED TODAY. JUST WROTE THIS IN ABOUT 45 MINS. I HOPE YOU ENJOY.

I have a name. James Fox. The wife fucker. I get my guy do a thorough background check. He's a lawyer with his own firm. He has an ex-wife in New York, no kids. His dad was a lawyer, too. Retired now. His mom was a teacher. They live in Florida. He has two sisters, one older, one younger. He's 35. _What the fuck does she want with this kid?_ Along with this information is a new photo. He's a handsome motherfucker. I can see him more clearly in this picture, he's not obscured by my wife.

Although I saw all the photos, saw her driving away without him, my mind still creates the next scene, a continuation of the story. He will have followed her home – those kisses won't have been enough. I know Ana, it's hard to get your fill. She will have opened the door, allowed him access. She will be flattered, he will be forceful... I pick up the closest thing to hand, a half-full glass of water and hurl it at the wall. I cannot bear the thought of him being in my bed, being in my wife. I grab my sneakers and go for a run.

As I run, I formulate a plan. I can think more clearly when I'm outside than when I'm cooped up in my office, or in the hotel suite. By the time I've completed my 5k, my next moves are all mapped out and I'm back in control.

* * *

My cell buzzes and I reach for it, a little lazily, languidly.

"Grey? You got a pencil? Write this down."

15 minutes later, I'm giving my keys plus a hefty tip to the valet. He grins gratefully – funny what a little money can do. As I approach the restaurant, I see them. She's facing me, radiant, as if she's emanating light. Just the sight of her stops me in my tracks, floors me. I have to get her back again. I watch her face break into a smile and I feel pain like a punch in my gut. I want that smile. I want it back. It's not his.

The doorman hurries to open the door for me and I swoop inside, propelled by anger and my resolve. I push past the pretty greeter and head for their table. She sees me from the corner of her eye and her hand flies up to her mouth.

"Christian?" Her voice is a gasp.

Her companion turns in his chair, his face set in defiance.

"Ana. James. _What_ a surprise."

"Christian, what are you doing here?" She sounds scared. She should.

"Who are you? How do you know my name?" He has risen from his chair and is now eyeing me. We're practically the same height, the same build. What he doesn't know is what I'm capable of when I'm angry.

I tut, a quiet noise, laden with danger. "I know a lot about you, Mr Fox." He's still staring at me, unblinking. He's making this more of a challenge than I thought it would be.

"Ana, who the hell is he?" He turns to her, to consult her, like they're a team. I burn black anger from the inside out. It controls my hands, curls them into capable fists.

"He's my ex." Her whispered words stab me through and through. I swing my left fist and make contact with his jaw. The movement is swift and I am rewarded with a neat crack. He clatters onto the table as Ana jumps up.

"CHRISTIAN!" Her anguish halts my hand, stops me from following my left fist with my right. Before I can address her, Fox pushes himself up and swings at me. I feel a returned punch as his fist makes satisfying contact with my cheekbone. I am launched back, onto a table behind. It's so shocking, so unexpected, that I start to laugh. I see the diners faces loom over me, eyes wide with shock.

I use the table as leverage and throw myself back into the fight, feeling good, feeling alive, feeling vital. Fox and I meet in mid-air, clutching at the other's neck, trying to gain purchase. We crash back to the floor, a flailing mess of limbs. And then he's stopping, not returning my kicks, my punches. He's letting me win. Why?

It's then I hear her voice, sweet as a Siren's. All I'd heard was the raging sea of blood in my ears.

"Leave it James. Please. He's not worth it. Please." My fists slow to a stop. And then she's touching me, her hands on my arms, my shoulders. I lean back into her. I've won. And then I realise she's pulling me off him, to get to him, to check that he's alright. I can't believe it. I stagger back in shock.

She kneels beside him, smoothing his hair, wiping his face. I step forward.

"Ana..."

"GO HOME, CHRISTIAN. JUST GO. LEAVE ME ALONE!" She shouts this over her shoulder at me. I'm once again surprised by my wife's ferocity. She used to use it to fight my corner, against Elena and others she thought had wronged me. Now she was using it against me.

"I will fight for you, Ana. You have to understand. I will get you back." I watch her back stiffen at my words.

She stands, leaving her suitor on the floor, and looks up at me.

"It's over. Please. Why can't you just let me move on? Move away from you? Please don't do this to me." She starts to cry, softly. She seems so tired, like she's given up the fight.

"I just can't believe it." I'm being honest, as honest as I was in Flynn's office, as honest as I should be with my wife.

"You have to. You're free. You can do whatever you want. But you need to let me do the same."

"I love you."

She nods. "If you really love me, let me go. Let me be. Please." She leans up and deposits the sweetest of kisses on my swollen cheek. Her tears stain my face. The kiss feels like goodbye.


	19. Chapter 19

NOTE FROM RIOTTORI: THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR REVIEWS AND COMMENTS. IT'S GREAT THAT SO MANY OF YOU ARE INVESTED IN THIS STORY (NOT JUST ME!) HANDS UP WHO LIKES ALICE. ANYBODY? NO? I PROMISE THAT MORE WILL BE REVEALED ABOUT HER SOON. UNTIL THEN, ENJOY...

C'S POV:

I go back to the hotel suite, my throbbing knuckles punishing me, reminding me of my wife's words. _You're free._ I don't want to be free, I never wanted to be free. I will **never** be free.

I open the freezer, take out some perfectly square ice cubes. I throw two in a glass and pour some Scotch over them. The others I wrap in a towel I find in the bathroom. I check my swollen face in the mirror, the physical pain paling in comparison to her words. _It's over. _

I put the ice-pack up to my face. She should be doing this, looking after me, like she always has. Her unwavering nurture of me had helped me to forget my neglect in my formative years. And I'd given that up. For what? For something new, something different.

In no way was I tempted for 'more' with the Subs after Ana and before Alice. I didn't even care what they ate or wore. I had removed those clauses from the contract. The new contract just included 'soft' and 'hard' limits. They were only 'mine' in The Red Room. When the month was up, they left my life, no trace that they had even been in it. They inspired no emotion in me other than sexual arousal. I liked imagining what they would look like naked when they sat in my office, pen in hand to sign the contract, agree to the rules _I _had written, what they would feel like, how they would react to my touch. But the thrill of fresh skin soon wore off. Not one of them could match Ana. Not one of them could keep me interested. I didn't even want them to. I had Ana at home and I had these Subs in the playroom. I had my cake and I was eating it, too.

Look how much a life can change in a few weeks. I stare in the mirror at my disfigured face. You deserve this, the reflection says. I nod my agreement.

* * *

A'S POV:

I expected him to be at home when I got back after sending James home in a cab but he wasn't. I went to the answering machine to check for a flashing light, flashing hope into the dark room, but no light greeted me.

I thought he'd call the next day, demand to see me, maybe barge into my office. He didn't. I found myself checking my mail, anticipating the satisfying ping of a new message. None came from him.

I thought he'd ambush me when I left my office for a quick lunch-break or that he'd have me followed at the very least. As I walked to my regular coffee-shop where I normally bought my lunch, I found myself looking around, trying to catch his hired PI out. But all I saw was a sea of indifferent faces, swelling behind me, trying to grab lunch and get back to work.

I waited for the phone-call I was sure would come after lunch when he woke late, bruised and sore, hurt and angry. It didn't come.

I put my key in the door, expecting him to be back, to be sitting quietly, confidently, in our house. Regaining the things that belonged to him. The house was empty.

_He'll call me tonight_, I thought as I settled down to a movie I didn't really watch, with a bottle of wine that I drank. He'll be furious, desperate.

_Tomorrow. Tomorrow he'll come for you. _These were my last thoughts, last words in my head when I drifted off into a troubled sleep.

* * *

_**You **__told him it was over. _The voice wakes me, has been hovering around all night, annoying as a fly and just as distracting.

I turn my cell on, key my password in with a slightly trembling hand. _Who are you hoping has called? James? _The voice is sarcastic this morning.

My heart sinks at the mention of his name. He called me yesterday, wanting to meet. I made an excuse. I would feel too guilty staring at his beautiful, damaged face, bruised by my damaged husband. I didn't want him getting hurt anymore than he had been. It wasn't fair. I would keep my distance for a little while, until things calmed down. I was bad news for him, a danger.

_Oh, Ana. That's not the __**real**__ reason, is it? _I move to the kitchen for coffee and work on blocking the voice out. I grab a cup. _James is nice but he's not Christian. _I spoon instant coffee into it. _Unlike your husband, you don't crave the new. You love the old, the familiar. _Sugar follows the coffee, spills neatly into the cup. _And you don't want to hurt James seeing as you're going to get back with your husband. _I slam the cup down on the kitchen counter. _Because you can't live without him. _I open the fridge, violently, grab for the milk. _I don't blame you. _I stop, shocked into stasis. _You must try to walk the dark path to get back to him and who you were together. You can do it. You can do it. _And just like that, my voice and the voice become one.

I hear nothing from him for another day. I spend another day under his sweet control, waiting and waiting. _Fight for me, Christian. _I implore. _You promised you would. _When I think that I may have finally freed him with my words at the restaurant, cut the tether that ties, that he might have been released from me to belong to Alice, it's almost more than I can bear.


	20. Chapter 20

NOTE FROM RIOTTORI: THIS 'CHAPTER' GIVES US A LITTLE INSIGHT INTO ALICE.

ALICE'S POV:

I watch them, from my vantage point behind the bar. They're back again, the second time this week. Doesn't she ever cook? She's wearing an even fancier dress than last time, and more jewelery; the diamonds in her ears catching the candle so light seems to dance around her, dance off her. He's captivated as he always is. He leans in like she's made of light herself, as enticing as an open fire. He seems to warm himself on her, drink her in.

She throws her head back in a hearty laugh. I make mental notes; a study of Mrs Grey. I will become her when I get home, as I do every night, practice this new move in front of the mirror.

He brushes a strand of hair behind her ear and he's rewarded with a coquettish little smile. I find my own mouth mirroring hers. He draws her hand up to his mouth, brushes his lips over it. I feel my stomach knot in jealousy. What has she got that I don't? I look at myself in the shiny brass of the beer tap. Mr Grey, that's what she's got. But not for long...

* * *

I shock my mom into silence when I come down for breakfast a few days later. She just looks at me and then at my hair.

"Alice. What have you done?"

I roll my eyes, just like Mrs Grey does sometimes which always inspires a hooding of Mr Grey's eyes. He finds it sexy for some reason, I have noted. And the biting of her lower lip. That drives him crazy. I'm perfecting that. I'm almost there.

"Nothing, ma. Just dyed it brown. And waved it a little." The disappointed look she's giving me is really starting to grate. "Don't you like it?"

"It's not that, honey. It's just, you look..." She runs her hand through her own platinum mane. I wait for her response. "Ordinary." I roll my eyes again as I lean over her to reach a piece of toast.

"I think it looks classy."

"Well, yes..." I bite into the toast and turn away.

"Gotta go. I'm gonna be late for class."

* * *

_He was, without a doubt, the sexiest man I'd ever laid eyes on. It wasn't just his looks, it was the power he wielded, the confidence he possessed. My eyes followed him as he walked past me and I found myself shrinking back, not wanting to be noticed in my work uniform which did absolutely nothing for me. The black skirt was an awkward length, the white shirt too baggy. And that waistcoat? Big and boxy. I didn't want him to see me like this. I needn't have worried - his gaze passed over me, as if he hadn't even taken me in. He only had eyes for his wife, according to Ashleigh. That was evident by the way they were acting as if they were the only people in the room, the center of each other's universes._

_I asked Ash about them when we were tidying up. His name was Christian Grey. He was CEO of a massive company, apparently. A billionaire a few times over. In his 40s. She was Anastasia, she worked in publishing, was an editor or something. That was a hard piece of info to digest. Not only did she have my dream guy, she also had my dream job. A spasm of jealousy gripped me._

_Ash was surprised I didn't know about them – they were always in the papers, attending galas and charity balls. I never liked reading those parts of the paper; I always felt like my nose was getting rubbed in it. _

_Anyway, she'd said, eyeing me suspiciously as she tipped away the muddy liquid from the beer trays, don't get no funny ideas - she knew me so well. They've been happily married for over two decades. For me, this just added to the challenge._

_I googled Christian Grey as soon as I got home then applied for a secretarial course the following day._

* * *

_All of the parts of the plan I had formed when I first saw him, my plan to take Christian Grey, were coming nicely together. My month-long secretarial course was nearly up and I was ready to send out my resume for the post of Assistant that had just been advertised. I looked on-line daily for any role I could take in his company, just to get my foot in the door, be noticed. Of course, I had to massage my resume a little, add a few fake courses, make myself more attractive. But I didn't even need the job. I just needed a few minutes alone with Christian._

_Then all that was left was to hand in my notice at the restaurant, dye my hair and perfect the becoming of Mrs Grey. _

_She stumbles as she enters the restaurant and he's by her side, supporting her, holding her up. My body takes another wave of jealousy, which sweeps like nausea, through me. She's laughing at her clumsiness in a self-deprecating, embarrassed way but he seems enthralled by it. He whispers something in her ear and he starts to laugh, join in on a very private joke. I grip the bar, my neat nails grooving imperceptible semi-circles into the real wood. She regains her composure and follows her husband to their table. I take it all in, to be used back on him when we meet for my interview next week. My muscles clench at the mere thought. _


	21. Chapter 21

NOTE FROM RIOTTORI: MORNING, ALL. ONCE AGAIN CAN I THANK YOU ALL FOR THE COMMENTS AND MESSAGES THAT YOU HAVE SENT ME. I WISH I COULD REPLY TO SOME OF THE GUESTS TOO BUT I CAN ONLY DO THAT IF YOU SIGN IN. ONE LAST THING: ALICE DIDN'T WORK AT LORENZO'S, IT'S ANOTHER RESTAURANT (ALTHOUGH ONE THAT A AND C FREQUENTED). OKEY-DOKEY, BACK TO THE STORY...

_Ana:_

He really has left me alone. Just like I asked him to. I can't actually believe it. A frisson of frustration grips me. My husband usually has difficulty relinquishing control with the small things so why now? Why now with something as big as our relationship? Our marriage? I sit behind my desk at work, rifling through a few manuscripts. They are mainly romance, hearts and flowers. They don't break my heart, they make me mad. This isn't real life, I want to shout. Real life is peppered with problems, with affairs, with deceit.

_Wow, he's really tainted you, Ana. _The voice has just uncovered one root of my anger, knocked off the soil I have buried it in so it is exposed. It is a throbbing root of hurt. _I _had believed in hearts and flowers, happily ever after – I'd been so naïve. He had given it to me, for a while at least. Would we ever get that back? Or was I fundamentally damaged, a black hole gaping in me that could never be filled no matter what we did?

His deceit had opened me up to haunting, too. The worst ghost of my past, her, Mrs Robinson, visits me at night. She places her face close to mine in the dark and laughs at me. She always said I wouldn't be enough and I wasn't. In many ways, that was one of the hardest things to accept. That my enemy, a woman I hated with the intensity of the sun, had been right about my husband, about us. And he'd let her be.

* * *

_Christian:_

I've tried to stay away. I couldn't bear another storm of truth from Ana, words like hail, hitting, each one hurting. I felt that with each word, she took a step away from me. But I also made a promise. On our wedding day and last week. I will fight for her.

I give the package to the courier with a silent prayer that this will work. _Please_, let this work.

* * *

_Alice:_

He won't see me. He won't meet me. He won't even talk to me on the phone. _Fuck!_ And it was going so well, everything was perfect. He was beginning to open up, to let me in to his world. He'd even started to look at me a little like he looked at her. _Fuck!_ It was almost in my grasp, almost in my palm. Mine. But it's been ripped from me, _he's _been tugged from me, leaving scars as he went. _Fuck! _What's more frustrating than the time and energy I had expended, was that I was so close. I just needed a little more time to topple Mrs Grey from her throne, to sit on it myself. I'm afraid that may never happen now. But I won't go back to my role of handmaid, servant girl, waitress. I won't. _Fuck!_

* * *

_Ana:_

My assistant, Marie, knocks tentatively on my door. She's been able to tell that something's up – possibly because of my loss of appetite. I have refused her offer to go and get me something for lunch for days now, pretending that I eat when I go to the coffee-shop I like. I don't. I sit and drink sweet tea, like they recommend for people in shock. I feel like I'm in shock. When I return to the office, I keep on finding muffins and pastries on my desk, hints that I need to eat; little, edible signs of Marie's love for me.

"Ana? I've got something for you."

I smile, appreciatively. It's nice that someone's looking after me. I hold out my hand to accept her baked good but am shocked when she goes out and retrieves a fair-sized box.

I look at her, my face filled with questions. She holds it out to me. I think I know who it's from.

"The courier just delivered it. It's been scanned – there's nothing dangerous in there." _Oh, Marie. Don't be so sure._

I force a smile on my face, desperate to be left alone with the box. _Come on, Pandora. Open it!_

I take it from her; it feels deceptively light, although I'm sure what lies inside will be weighty – heavy with memories and emotion.

Marie looks at me, reflecting my unsure smile back at me.

"I'll just be out here. If you need me."

"Thanks, Marie." I reply, softly. She leaves.

And it's just me and the box.

* * *

_Christian:_

I'm waiting and pacing. Waiting and pacing. She must have received it, must be opening it now. I imagine her opening the box, carefully, like there's a bomb inside. I try to imagine her reaction – will she react? – but I can't see her face, the face I know so well. So I'm waiting and pacing. Waiting and pacing.

* * *

_Alice:_

I'll find a way to get back in. I'll find a way to catch my king.


	22. Chapter 22

NOTE FROM RIOTTORI: LET'S OPEN THAT BOX. ENJOY...

_Ana:_

I hold my breath as I peel the sellotape from the box. I am moving slowly, scared of what I will release, what will soon be with me in my office. I fold down one of the flaps and work on the other, my breath still held, my heart hammering in my throat. My hands are visibly shaking, I will myself to calm down.

The balloons are released to a gasp of surprise from me. They float upwards from the box, hundreds of mini helium balloons, swarming together and filling the air above my desk. I catch one, hold it in my hand. It's a heart. I grab another one; it's a flower. _Hearts and flowers. You're getting your hearts and flowers back. _

Another balloon steals a laugh from me as it rides by. It's in the shape of a boxing glove. _He said he'd fight for you. _There's a baby boy, all in blue – Teddy – and a pink one for Phoebe. There's an intertwined 'A' and 'C', reminiscent of our wedding stationery.

The largest one, that floats languidly, a little away from the pack, is an inflatable helicopter, just like the one that Christian gave to me over two decades ago. I gasp again, this gasp filled with yearning. I grab the string and yank Charlie Tango back to me. He feels safe in my hand. Our life is with me in this room, little colorful mementos making their way up to the ceiling.

I reach into the now empty box, and find a note. I can barely see through my tears, the lettering a blur.

_Baby,_

_Our life is in this box. My life is in your hands. _

_You are the only girl I will ever love. I will wait for you forever. _

_C x_

I grip the desk, overwhelmed by all of this; all this emotion that I had kept buried for so long. _Don't be perverse. Don't sacrifice your own happiness to punish him. _The voice has the clarity of a bell. _You can salvage this. _I start to cry, allow a cathartic release. I need to leave my old feelings behind if I want to move on. I feel the rage and hurt escape through my tears and I'm not just crying for what Christian has put me through, but what I've done to myself. I had cut myself up and put myself in a box because I thought that was how I could keep him. I cry for being a fool, I sob for being a masochist and I weep for who I had become.

But with pleasure comes pain, with darkness comes light and with a tremendous fall, a superb rise follows.

I reach for the phone feeling like a phoenix reborn.

* * *

He is wooing me. No other verb for it. He is wooing me just like he had done when he wanted to make me his Sub. He is doing it again to recover his wife. He asked me out over the phone on the day of my office break-down when I called him. He said he had to meet me, see me. I agreed.

We are Ana and Christian who date but we are also Mr and Mrs Grey, in couple's therapy, visiting Dr Flynn to put together the pieces of our broken marriage.

* * *

Our first date 'after the break' was so reminiscent of the one we had had years before. A black car was waiting for me – I could see it out of my bedroom window while I was putting in my earrings.

I ran downstairs and lightly out onto the gravel drive while a man I didn't recognize opened the door for me to get in. I nodded my thanks to him and slid into the back seat. Christian was waiting for me. Just like he used to.

"Good evening, Anastasia. You look beautiful." I could hear the smile in his voice, even in the dark.

"Good evening, Christian. Thank you." I felt young again, refreshingly young yet fortified with wisdom and experience. Better than I had been, back then.

"Do you have any idea where we are going?" His voice was teasing in the half-light.

"No. But I'm ready for anything," I'd replied.

"Good," he'd whispered. He grabbed my hand and held it like he never wanted to let go. I could feel his rapid heart-beat in his finger-tips.

We were driven to the helipad where Charlie Tango's brother, Oscar Bravo was waiting. Christian took my hand again as we crossed to the helicopter. I got in the passenger side and waited to be strapped in as I normally did. He looked me directly in the eye, and grinned as we heard the satisfying 'click' of the seat-belt.

"How does that feel, Ana?" He was careful not to call me Mrs Grey. Nor to refer to me as Ms Steele.

"Safe," I said.

He stroked my cheek, tracing a line like fire down my skin and ran to his side, like a man much younger than his years. When he was settled and securely strapped in, he lifted Oscar Bravo up, hovering on the spot, skilfully. We rose into the air, the lights of the city twinkling beneath us, spurring us on. Once, we had chased the dawn. Now, we owned the night.

Christian landed on the roof of a hotel and I knew, with a flush of excitement that it was The Heathman; the backdrop to the beginning of our love story.

We were greeted by the manager, who led us a floor down to the Penthouse then discreetly left. The table was laid out, a perfect meal for two. Christian pulled my chair out, his hands stroked the small of my back as I sat and then he took his own seat. He removed the shiny, stainless steel cloches with a flurry to reveal a delicious-looking steak, Dauphinoise potatoes and long spears of asparagus – the same meal we had served at our wedding.

My stomach growled, betraying my hunger; a noise which caused Christian to laugh – a laugh of surprise tinged with relief.

"It's good to see your appetite is back, Ana." I smiled at him, and began to tuck in.

We didn't discuss anything about his betrayal or his 10 or her. We acted as if we had just met, flirted like we used to, tried to get to know each other again. Mr and Mrs Grey would discuss those issues in two days at the first scheduled appointment with Flynn.

After dinner, he ran me a bath. I had been forbidden from entering the bathroom but soon the sweet smell of Jasmine flowing out from under the door found me.

"Ana," he'd called. "Come."

I walked to the bathroom and pushed the door open. There must have been a thousand cream candles lighting my way, guiding me to the bath.

"Enjoy," he'd said, sounding a little shy, not like the Christian he usually was, usually tried to be.

"You're leaving?" I asked, not sure if I wanted him to but also not sure if I wanted him to stay.

He bent down and planted a chaste kiss on my forehead.

"Yes, but I'll just be outside. Waiting for you." I nodded. We were taking baby-steps down the long dark path back.

* * *

That night we shared a bed. We didn't touch but I know that my proximity, my presence, our closeness, let him sleep properly for the first time in weeks. Maybe even years.


	23. Chapter 23

RIOTTORI: IT THOUGHT WE ALL DESERVED SOME HEARTS AND FLOWERS AFTER THE BLEAK DARKNESS OF THE FIRST 21 CHAPTERS! I'M SO PLEASED THAT YOU GUYS LIKED IT. THANKS FOR READING AND COMMENTING AND SORRY THAT I HAVEN'T GOT BACK TO YOU PERSONALLY. I WAS WORKING ON THIS NEXT BIT. NOW, FOR YOUR READING PLEASURE, CHAPTER 23...

_Ana:_

The night before our therapy, the night after the stay in the Heathman, I can't sleep. The voice is keeping me company, keeping me strong but lying next to me in bed, her hair spilling onto my pillow, is Mrs Robinson. The voice pulls my face away from her, tries to cover my exposed ear, but it's no use. She asks me if I'm ready for the answers. She asks me if I _really _want to know more about Alice, his favorite little Sub. She cackles at me, she heckles me. I'm glad when day finally breaks and the new dawn chases her away.

We're sitting side-by-side in Flynn's office. Christian looks as nervous as I feel. I'm sorry we need to be here but I accept it. If I want our marriage to work, our life to be back on track, I need to know. The voice thinks I'm being a bit masochistic, thinks I should bury my head a bit, all in the name of self-preservation. I think the story in my head is worse than the reality. Or that's what I'm hoping. That's what I'll find out.

* * *

_Alice:_

I can't believe my plan has back-fired. Alice, Alice, you're smarter than that. If I could just see him, talk to him, remind him what I'm like, remind him what he's missing. I lie on my bed, my pillow over my face, and scream into the fabric, allow it to absorb my rage.

_I knew I had him the moment he saw me, the moment I put on my Mrs Grey disguise. The room was alive with sexual tension, it took all my will-power not to seduce him then and there, in his office, with his secretaries milling around outside, to fuck him on the photo of his wife on his desk._

_I got the job. Of course I got the job. He'd hired me with the head he kept between his legs, the head a lot of men seemed to think with. It was almost too easy, the effect I had on him. I thought he would be more of a challenge, this was Christian Grey after all. Little did I know that was testament to how much he loved his fucking wife. Ash was right._

_I dressed like her on my first day. I knew what she liked to wear to work. Of course, my outfits were cheap knock-offs and hers were the real thing. But soon that would change. Soon __**I**__ would be head-to-toe in designer._

_He asked me to stay late on the second day, sending his dull Blondes home. I could have wept for joy. I ran to the bathroom to fix my hair, apply a little shimmer to my lips to attract his eyes to my mouth. I pinched my cheeks to bring out the fresh pink color and then ran back to his office. This was my big chance and I was damned if I was going to mess it up._

_I knocked on the door, poised for his admittance. He called me in and I entered, a sweet little smile on my lips, my head slightly stooped._

_"__Mr Grey," I breathed. "You wanted me?" _

_"__Alice, yes." I could hear the lust coating those two words._

_I moved towards him and waited to be told to be seated. He had enjoyed that little trick so much in the interview that I thought I'd try it again. I had never seen Mrs Grey do that but I was ad-libbing a little, letting a little bit of Alice shine through._

_His eyes found my face and a hint of an internal battle played on his features, Do it, I willed him. Come to me. His amazingly grey eyes closed in a series of blinks as if he were capturing my image or trying to remember one from the past._

_"__Here, file these," he said, handing me a stack of papers. _

_Fuck! It wasn't going to happen tonight. Be patient, I coached myself. The bigger the pot of delayed gratification grows, the bigger the rewards. _

_I flashed a bright smile at him to mask my disappointment and stalked from the room._

* * *

Ana:

My hands twist in my lap as I listen to Christian begin speaking. I hear his voice crack under the strain and I don't think I've ever seen him look more scared. What makes my heart hurt the most is how much he looks like our son used to when he woke from the occasional childhood nightmare.

"I...I...I want to say sorry to Ana. I can't believe what I've put her through. It's been my duty to protect her all these years and I wind up being the one to inflict the most pain. I...never..." he stops, and looks at me. "I never meant it to go so far. I honestly didn't." We take a deep breath at the same time. He focuses his attention back to Flynn, our neutral audience of one.

"It started with a twinge. It came upon me suddenly, an urge to have someone in The Room. Things weren't going so well at work," I glance at him – this is the first I've ever heard of work issues. He nods but is still staring at Flynn. "I'd brought in some big-shot, some guy in his twenties. He was cocky, confident; he reminded me of me at that age. Anyway, he was great...he...was...better than me at my own job!"

I shake my head slightly. Christian falters for a second after the confession then resumes. "I felt pushed out a little, displaced. There was a new generation out there and they were blood-thirsty, mercenary. I didn't want to tell you about this, Ana." He turns to me again. "I didn't want you to know that I could feel threatened. I mean, I'm meant to be the big boss, not some guy young enough to be my son." It's his turn to shake his head.

"I think that was the trigger. I needed control – a kind of control I knew I could get from The Room. I tried to suppress it, and I managed to fight the urge for years. But it...it...overcame me one night. I was alone in Escala. You were out of town, you both were." He motions to me and Flynn. I tried to think back – where had I been? Visiting my mom?

"I felt so lonely, so alone. That was when I found my first Sub. Oh, God..." He breaks off, burying his head in his hands. I swallow, not sure I can take this. I see him compose himself, lift his head but he focuses on John.

"She came to the...the apartment. She was cheap, she turned my stomach." I take a sharp intake of breath. So she was cheap, she disgusted him but he still managed to take her into The Room? And yet he couldn't take me, his wife he professed to love?

"I'm so ashamed. It felt so wrong. She was so cold. She wasn't you, Ana." I think I'm going to vomit, a wave of nausea creeping up on me like an enemy. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry."

And like a neglected child, he starts to rock, gently, comforting himself as he had been forced to in his childhood. My heart hurts, physically hurts for the damaged man sitting next to me. I thought we'd be OK when I married him, I thought he'd put his past to rest but sitting in this room, I realise he will never be fine. Like a true addict, this exists in him and always will. _It's whether you can live with it - that's the real question, _the voice warns.


	24. Chapter 24

NOTE FROM RIOTTORI: THANKS ONCE AGAIN FOR THE REVIEWS. SOME OF YOU HAVE EXPRESSED THE OPINION THAT ANA 'FORGIVES' CHRISTIAN TOO SOON. I'M TRYING TO KEEP 'TRUE' TO THE CHARACTERS AND I THINK THAT ANA WOULD TRY TO MAKE HER MARRIAGE WORK. IT'S NOT EASY AND SHE HASN'T FORGIVEN HIM COMPLETELY PER SE. ONE THING YOU ALL SEEM TO BE UNITED ON IS YOUR RAMPANT DISLIKE OF ALICE. ;) HERE'S A LITTLE MORE BEFORE I GO TO WORK - WHICH TOTALLY GETS IN THE WAY OF MY WRITING BTW. I MAY HAVE TO QUIT!

_Ana:_

We sit in silence for a while, his apologies echoing in the room around us. My mind is trying to digest what he has confessed, is trying to digest the voice's warning. I need to make sense of this, to wade through the words and find the ones that will help us; leave the others that will only drag us down.

"Why didn't you talk to me Christian?" My voice is soft, patient. "One thing I prided myself on was having good communication with you. To be able to talk things through."

The voice sneers at me._ Don't be such a hypocrite. You didn't say anything to him when you found the contract. You've been living with this secret locked inside you for eight years._

He sighs. "I didn't know how to tell you. God, that sounds like a cliché." He runs both hands through his hair. "But it's true. I tried to bury the nagging feeling. Running helped, so did talking to John." I rear back a little when he says this. Irrationally, I'm jealous – jealous that he could talk to Flynn and not me.

I look at Flynn, watch his slow nod. "Before the first Sub?" I ask, my question directed to both of them.

"Yes," Christian says. "And after."

I feel winded, like Christian's words have reached down and punched me, low in the gut. This had never occurred to me before, that John knew. _Back to naïve little Ana._ I always thought that Christian had kept this inside, not confessed anything to either me or Flynn. I thought John and I were both equally in the dark. But no, Flynn was in cahoots with my husband, allowing him to cheat.

Anger rears its ugly head and uses me as a mouth-piece.

"_You knew?_"

Flynn blinks, sits a little straighter in his chair.

"Yes, Ana. But don't forget the patient-doctor confidentiality. I am sworn..."

"So where was your 'patient-doctor confidentiality' when you first talked to me about Christian, encouraged me to start a relationship with him? I came to you Flynn," I spit his name out, like it's a bad taste in my mouth, "I _told _you I was worried about this. This here." I gesture around me, as if my pain were in the room with us, a silent onlooker.

Christian's mouth is open as he tries to take in my words. He turns to Flynn. "What is she talking about Flynn?" His words have turned to ice, crystallized and sharp.

"Ana came to see me."

"When?"

"I can't remember now. Some time ago."

"When?" He's not shouting, his voice is practically a whisper. It serves to make him even more frightening.

I know the answer but I remain mute.

"Just...just after the last time you went into The Red Room."

"And what did you discuss?"

Flynn shakes his head. "Christian, I took an oath. I can't tell you what we discussed..."

"Then_ I _will." The passion of my words, the heat rising from my anger, thaws some of the ice my husband has created. "I told him I was worried you might cheat. I suppose Elena's jibes that I wouldn't be enough for you, to keep you, were haunting me. I came to Flynn after the...the last time in The Red Room."

"And what did he tell you, Ana?" His steady gaze never leaves Flynn's face. I can feel the doctor squirming in his chair.

"That you were...cured."

Christian starts to laugh. A slow, mirthless laugh.

"That was before the first Sub. You can't blame me for your actions," Flynn starts.

"No, I'm blaming you for _your_ actions. How dare you not tell me about my wife's fears?"

"I took an oath," he repeats again.

"You could have saved us," I say. "You had the two parts of the puzzle in your hands. My fears, and Christian's desires. You could have prevented this. We should have been here 16 years ago! Not now. It's much easier to prevent something from breaking than repair it after the damage is done!" I rise, unable to look at Flynn, this man I had trusted, who I had confided in. Christian may have put the nails in the coffin but Flynn had provided the hammer.

I walk to the door, hear Flynn spluttering excuses and feel my husband's hands go around my shoulders, supporting me, on my side.

"We're done!" He says, throwing his words over his shoulder to Flynn, the parting shot.

I am so angry I'm trembling as we head downstairs and out onto the street. Christian turns to me, cups my face in his hands and I let him.

"Baby, I'm so sorry. _Fucking Flynn!_"

I don't know what to say. It feels like another betrayal.

"What are we going to do now?" he asks.

But I don't have any answers.

* * *

_Alice:_

I watch them from the safety of my little beat-up car. He holds her head in his hands. She is shaking her head a little, taking his hands with her. She looks upset, hurt. Good, I think. The cracks are showing, the cracks that I have created, inflicted upon them. I will use those cracks to seep through. I _know_ I will.


	25. Chapter 25

NOTE FROM RIOTTORI: EVEN WORK CAN'T KEEP ME AWAY! THANKS FOR THE COMMENTS AND REVIEWS. YOU'RE ALL QUITE SPLIT ON THE QUESTION OF FLYNN'S CULPABILITY. I'M REALLY ENJOYING THE DISCUSSIONS ABOUT THAT ONE. BUT YOU'RE ALL STILL UNITED IN YOUR HATRED OF ALICE. INTERESTING! I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS NEXT SEGMENT. THOUGHTS AND FEED-BACK GREATLY RECEIVED (AS ALWAYS).

We're sitting, waiting for Dr Black. I know he's going to hate her but there's no way we can go back to Flynn. Even his name makes my blood pressure inch dangerously up. Christian was relieved that I still wanted to have therapy. I think he thought he'd lost me again, Flynn's deceit echoing his own, making the wounds deeper, making them last longer. My husband is willing to try anything to make our marriage work.

He has ripped The Red Room right out of Escala. Some discreet workmen (who were all made to sign NDAs) were called in to remove every last piece of furniture, to haul out the bed, dismantle the suspension equipment. They then stripped the walls of their red, removing the stains left by my husband and his Subs.

* * *

_He called me for a second date the day after the Flynn fiasco. He sounded scared and unsure, my little-boy-lost Fifty. He told me he was calling to ask me out again since he'd had such a lovely time the first time – we had become Ana and Christian once more – and would I please meet him in Escala. I felt my body flood with nerves about going back to the scene of so much heartache. But the voice told me it was __**my **__apartment, that I shouldn't be scared, that it was just bricks and mortar, so I agreed._

_He came down to the lobby to meet me, and escorted me up in the elevator, his grey eyes glinting at me. "Fuck the paperwork," he whispered and watched me to see my reaction. I smiled at this old joke of ours and he visibly relaxed._

_He took my coat when we entered out apartment and the gesture felt strange – like I was his guest,as I had once been. He offered me a glass of wine, cold and crisp, and our fingertips made the slightest hint of contact. Funny that I still felt that electricity between us, considering our recent past and the years we'd been together but then, my sensible self was often betrayed by my rather foolish heart, my weak body._

_He extended his hand to me and I looked up at him, unsure of what he wanted. "Come," he said. "I have a surprise." I took his hand warily, his touch burning and comforting, simultaneously. "Ana, trust me. Please." His eyes were beseeching, those pools of grey. My hand clasped his in a tacit agreement and he led me down the corridor. _

_I froze, not sure what he was doing, not sure I was ready for anything yet. Whichever turning he took – left to the bedroom or right to The Red Room. _

_"__Baby," he pleaded, tugging gently on my hand. "Come with me." My feet refused to move, I was trapped in a tar-pit of fear. It was the sound of desperation in his voice which made me go on. "Please." A one-word prayer._

_I followed him down the long corridor until we were standing outside The Red Room. I noticed that the door had been replaced – you no longer needed a key to enter. He put his hand on the knob and pushed the door open. I gulped in a desperate lungful of breath._

_Everywhere I looked were books, rows and rows that reached from the floor to the ceiling. The room was bright, a direct contrast to the other library in the apartment that housed the billiards table, the one that looked like it belonged in a Gentleman's Club. This one was light and airy, a breath of fresh air after the intense red the room had been. I looked up and saw that a sky-light now replaced the ceiling which had once housed suspension equipment. The floor had been sanded down, the deep mahogany scraped off and light-wood now shone through. The room was wholesome, clean, new._

_Christian stood to the side, watching to gauge my reaction, expectantly. I moved to a shelf and practically squealed. "They're all first editions," he explained, a little shyly._

_My finger ran across the titles, my eyes eagerly taking them in: Wuthering Heights, Jane Eyre, Romeo and Juliet. All the best love-stories. I looked back to my Fifty. Funny that all the great romances are so tragic and flawed. Maybe that was what made them so great. _

* * *

I can tell he hates Dr Black on first sight; he almost has a visceral reaction to her, his hackles rising. I know it's because she knows some of his history. I confessed that I had visited her to get a second opinion after Flynn. He knows she is strict, blunt and brutally honest. She also fails to light up around him, the way that all women do in his presence, always have, drinking in the beauty of him. She is brusque, terse. This is not going to be a fun hour but I suspect I am going to get some of the answers I need. She'll extract it from him, I'm sure. He walks into her office like a condemned man called to the gallows.


	26. Chapter 26

NOTE FROM RIOTTORI: IN GENERAL IN THIS STORY, ALL FLASHBACKS ARE IN THE PAST AND WRITTEN IN ITALICS. EVERYTHING ELSE IS PRESENT TIME. LET'S HEAR A LITTLE FROM CHRISTIAN NOW...

_Christian:_

I can't stand this woman in front of me. She looks like she's going to do damage to me; peel back my skin, put me under the microscope, root around and then close me up again. It was bad enough talking to Flynn who I'd known for years. Now I had to expose myself to her? I want to take Ana's hand but we don't touch as Mr and Mrs Grey.

"Sit," she commands, and I find myself following her orders, the deep-seated masochist in me eager to please. I will do anything to get Ana back. Make her mine again. If this is what it takes, I'm willing. Dr Black is already seated, her dark eyes hiding behind glasses. She is flicking through a file – a file compiled years ago.

"Mr Grey, Mrs Grey. Whichever of you wants to go first. Tell me why you're here today."

Ana wants to talk about Alice. No dancing around the subject, no lead up to it. She doesn't want to know about the Subs. She wants access to her. Alice. Now. Dr Black wants us to talk directly to her, addressing her, not the person next to us. She also claims that it doesn't matter that she doesn't know me that well. She says that she is not an adjudicator deciding culpability in a case. She is a facilitator. Her aim is to guide us through this difficult time. The adjective she uses makes me want to sneer. Difficult? What an understatement. We're talking in terms of life and death here. She has no idea what is about to unfold before her in her sterile little office, devoid of emotion. We're about to paint its white walls fifty shades.

* * *

"I hired her as my PA," I begin down the long wending path I don't really want to be anywhere near. But I need to do this for Ana. I need to be honest. She is braced beside me, I can feel it. "I was...attracted to her... almost instantaneously. She was...she was..." I stop and close my mouth. This may just kill us.

"What?" A probing monosyllable from the Doctor's mouth.

"She was so like Ana." I stop again, sensing my wife stiffen.

"Go on." Black's utterance gives nothing away.

"She made me laugh almost immediately. I didn't mean to...like her. It just happened."

A thin whistle escapes through Dr Black's teeth as she jots something down. It sounds a lot like judgment. "Go on," she says again.

Go on to where? I think. Just dive right in with all the gory details? She points at me without saying anything more, like an experienced conductor.

"What do you want to know, Ana?" I turn to my wife, ignoring Dr Black. Ana doesn't answer.

"Mr Grey," Dr Black begins with a sigh. "As I said at the start of this session, I would like you to focus your questions and responses on me, please. It makes for a less emotional experience. Just pretend that Mrs Grey is not here. Talk." I find her imperative so forceful that I am compelled to obey.

"I asked her to stay late at the office on the second day but nothing happened. I swear, Ana. Nothing happened then..."

"Mr Grey!" Dr Black snaps. "Please. Focus on me."

"I thought about it...thought how it would be to...touch her. But I resisted."

Dr Black turns a page in her jotter, noisily. More judgment. "For how long?"

"Two weeks." My answer is a whisper.

"Sorry, Mr Grey. How long did you say you resisted?" Bitch, making me repeat myself, making me stab Ana again. I clear my throat and stare into Dr Black's eyes.

"Two weeks." I sneak a look at Ana. Her eyes are closed.

"Go on."

"I asked her to stay late again. I was working on an important account and I needed someone to work over-time. I asked her."

I pause, allowing my confession to sink in. I don't want to bombard her with fact after painful fact. Why the fuck had I done this? Any of this? Why had I brought us here, to this point? I hold my head in my hands, swamped with sorrow and grief and memories.

"She brought me...dinner. I hadn't asked her to. She had gone out and bought...some hot deli sandwiches. Two for me and...one for her. I was...flattered. God, I was so stupid. Something as small as that." The truth spills from my mouth. I know how hard this must be for Ana to hear; some other woman looking after me, encroaching on her territory. And I'd let her. I could have told her to leave but I didn't.

I push my head up. "We...ate together. At my desk. We talked. She made me laugh...she made me...feel...young again." I had just uttered the oldest excuse for affairs in the book. But, sadly it was true. She made me feel like my 28-year-old self with my 22-year-old Ana. I just want to be honest. Finally honest.

I hear both Ana and Dr Black take a breath, as if my words have made the room feel cramped, suddenly airless and suffocating.

"Continue, please."

"I kissed her. Just a quick kiss but it was our first contact. I walked her downstairs to the street and hailed a taxi for her. I thanked her for her hard work and...kissed her. She was looking at me like she wanted me to. So..I...did." It sounds ridiculous even to my ears, like some trashy story. I shake my head, full of shame. My wife is silent beside me.


	27. Chapter 27

NOTE FROM RIOTTORI: THIS WILL BE MY LAST POST FOR TONIGHT, GUYS. BUT I WILL BE BACK AGAIN, BRIGHT AND EARLY TOMORROW MORNING. THANKS FOR YOUR CONTINUED SUPPORT AND YOUR THOUGHT-PROVOKING REVIEWS. LOOK FORWARD TO REACTIONS TO THIS:

"Go on, Mr Grey." Black's cold command.

"What good is this going to do? Going over the dirty details?" I shout, enraged. Surely this was just hurting Ana even more? Pouring salt into the wound?

"Mr Grey. Honesty is the corner-stone of any marriage. For you to work out your problems and resolve them, for you to even have a chance of making your marriage work, you need to work out _why _you cheat, what _makes_ you cheat. What's missing in your marriage? The truths that you will reveal in this office are going to be a lot harder to stomach than some sophomoric kiss like the one you have just described. It's often not the action that destroys so much as the_ reason_ driving the action."

Suddenly, the prospect of what we are trying to do seemed to loom huge, our issues insurmountable. Black was right. I had somehow thought that the hard part was the confession. But it wasn't. It was living with the beast that lay within me. What if it stirred again?

* * *

_Alice:_

_I rode home in the cab, watching the city lights blur and blend before me. He had kissed me, on my lips. It was quick but the desire that lay in the core of the kiss spoke of promise._ _Everything was coming together, just as I had hoped, had dreamed, lying awake in my childhood bedroom, listening to my mother's harsh laugh at some sit-com. I was going to get out. He was going to get me out._

_The next day I dressed to impress. I chose a demure dress that buttoned all the way up the front. As I did up the little pearly buttons, I imagined him ripping it off me in his office. I banished those naughty thoughts from my head and focused on the next part of the plan. I decided to be slightly aloof, to blow hot and cold, make the chase all the more exciting. _

_I could feel him watching me as I brought him some papers to be signed. I kept my head down and my face blank, as if our mouths hadn't found the other's just hours before. He asked me if I was OK, and I allowed myself to flush a little. He could read that as guilt if he wanted, or desire. Either way, I could see that my quiet act was affecting him. _

_He called me back into his office seven times that day. The Blondes looked suspiciously at me each time. It only added to the thrill._

* * *

_He asked me out that Friday. I could tell he was building up to something, some grand gesture on his part. He called me into his office, asked me to stay on late again. I asked if I could get him another sandwich. He'd laughed, told me not to spend my money on him, that we'd grab something to eat when we'd finished. His treat. He made it sound so innocent. I gushed a reply to show my gratitude, but told him that I couldn't possibly accept. I saw a flash of anger then, and wondered if I'd pushed it too far. There's a thin line between keeping them keen and allowing them to lose interest. He told me he wanted to reward me for my dedication to the Grey Corporation and my tireless work these last weeks. I nodded my acceptance with a warm smile, told him that sounded great and got back to my work._

* * *

_It was just as I dreamed it would be – better in fact. We walked into the restaurant, a restaurant he claimed he took clients and work colleagues to, and I could feel the admiring glances of the other diners. A ripple of whispers surrounded us as we walked to our table. I found it buoyed me up, made me walk taller. This is what it would be like, to be Mrs Grey. _

_The waiter approached us and they conducted a rapid conversation about the wine list that I couldn't follow. I watched him order for both of us and it made me feel special, looked after, safe.. When the waiter left, I had his full attention. I reveled in it, bathed in it._

_We drank champagne – the first real champagne I'd ever had – as if we were celebrating something to do with work, as if this wasn't anything romantic. You can fool the other diners but you can't fool me, I thought, watching his eyes on my lips as I talked. We both knew where this was heading. We both politely declined dessert. When he escorted me outside, I got into the passenger side of his car without saying a word._

* * *

_Christian:_

"So, after dinner, the first night that you went out with this...Alice. What happened?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" Dr Black raises her eyebrow. "Mr Grey, please, for the sake of these sessions, please tell the truth."

"I am. Nothing happened. She wouldn't let me...she wouldn't let me touch her."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. I never found out. She wouldn't tell me."

"So, you took her back to your apartment and nothing happened?"

"Yes." I notice Ana deflate slightly beside me, as if she's been holding her breath and has just dared to let it go. "She came up. I thought maybe something would happen...but it didn't."

"But you wanted it to." I wince at Black's statement. For Ana, that was the important thing. Not so much the act, but the desire behind the act. When I wanted someone else, it meant I wanted her a little less, that she wasn't the sole sun in my universe.

* * *

_Alice:_

_I wanted to leave my mark in his apartment, for him to walk in and think of me, not her. I wanted to usurp, replace. This wasn't some fling, I wanted in for the long-haul. I could get him to sleep with me – that would be the easy part. I needed him to want me for longer than a night. I needed him to want me for life._

_I accepted his proffered glass of Dom Perignon and stood in front of the huge window, my back to him. He soon approached, drawn in like a magnet. He reached for me, but I wouldn't turn to him, wouldn't give him any of me. I knew I was being risky – I wouldn't see him until Monday morning and a depressing, Grey-less weekend sprawled in front of me – but I had to be strong and not give in to my own desire which pulsed in my very blood._

_I let my eyes brim with tears and turned to look up at him. "I can't do this Christian. I'm sorry." I rushed from the apartment as he called my name, leaving my coat behind, a tangible reminder of me. _


	28. Chapter 28

NOTE FROM RIOTTORI: HEY GUYS. HERE'S THE FRUIT OF MY MORNING'S LABOR. HOPE THAT SOME OF YOUR QUESTIONS ARE ANSWERED. ENJOY. SOMEONE SAID THAT I WAS SURPRISED BY YOUR LEVEL OF DISLIKE OF ALICE. NOT AT ALL, IT IS TOTALLY UNDERSTANDABLE. SHE'S TRYING TO BREAK UP A MARRIAGE AFTER ALL. SADLY, THERE ARE WOMEN OUT THERE LIKE THAT THOUGH.

_ALICE:_

I'm getting ready to make my move. My skin tingles with anticipation, nerves shoot through me like fireworks. I twist my hair up to expose my neck, pull a tendril down that I can play with later, wrap around my finger, or push behind my ear in that way that makes him catch his breath. The simple dark-blue wrap dress hangs to me like a second skin, flattering the lines of my body. I'll have no problem catching my king tonight. I just need him to see me.

I practice my sad little smile that I have perfected for Christian, my resigned face. It says, I feel sorry for your wife but I cannot fight this. My eyes fill with emotion but I have to work to keep the anger out. No Alice should poke through yet. Tonight, I had to be Mrs Grey.

It is imperative that we meet tonight. I saw them outside a different doctor's office today, not that Flynn guy's. When they went in, I looked at the small brass sign: Dr Black. They're trying to make things work and I cannot let that happen. I would let them destroy themselves in each session, chip away a little bit more trust with each painful hour, but I also had to remind Christian of what he could have.

She looked like she'd been crying when they emerged to face the remains of the grey day. He put an arm around her but she pulled back slightly. I smiled at that. She was only helping my cause. They left in different cars.

He's staying back at Escala. I tell the cab driver to take me there and watch his admiring nod. Escala equals money equals power. I tell him my boyfriend lives there and he nods again. I sit back and enjoy the ride.

I get out, tip the driver – soon money would no longer be an issue – and head for the foyer. The discreet doorman nods at me, he's seen me enough times to recognize me. This grants me admittance to the foyer but I still need to get to the Penthouse and that requires a key.

I take my cell out and rehearse in my mind what I have planned to say. I want to sound like I need him, but not too desperate. Lost but not mad. I dial Christian's number and wait. He doesn't pick up and my call goes to voice-mail. _Fuck! _I had not banked on that. I repress my growing annoyance – there's nothing worse than multiple missed-calls from an ex.

I try once more. No answer. _Fuck! _I'm about to walk over to the receptionist when I feel the buzz of my phone against my palm. I take a deep breath and answer it.

"Christian?" I whisper.

"Alice." He sounds a little cold, a little distant. I take another breath.

"How are you?"

He gives an angry, gruff laugh in response. It unnerves me.

"Can..I...see...you?" Each word is punctuated by the beating of my heart.

He releases a long breath which seems to last for minutes. I close my eyes and wait for the reply. _Please, please. I just need one more shot._

"No, Alice. I don't think that's a good idea."

"Please, Christian. I need to see you. I...I... miss you." I hope my words have an impact, reach him.

"Alice, I'm sorry. It's over." _Fuck!_

I am fighting back anger, fighting down my desperation. I cannot believe this opportunity is being taken from me. I unleash the weapon I have been wielding, the one I was hoping I could use when I saw him. I need it to work. Now.

"I'm downstairs, in Escala. I'm ready to sign the contract, Sir." I pronounce each word, carefully, banish emotion from my voice.

Silence on the phone. My heart beat counts out the seconds.

"No, Alice. I'm sorry. I want to be with my wife. Sorry."

Rage, pure white-hot rage. I try to swallow it down but it surges up.

"AND WHERE DOES THAT LEAVE ME_?_"

The words echo around the lobby but I don't care. I'm making a scene but I do not care.

His reply is the click as he terminates the call.

I call back immediately, punch in the numbers, feel the full force of my rage. I am almost blind with it. All I get is a woman's voice telling me the number is currently unavailable. She mocks me with each word.

* * *

_Christian:_

_Ana doesn't want to meet me on the evenings that we have been Mr and Mrs Grey, the couple going through therapy. She says she wants to reflect on the things we have talked about, the issues thrown up in that hour. Today was particularly painful. It was our first meeting with Dr Black. I can't say I like the woman, but Ana wanted to see her. We unearthed some Alice truths today. She knows of the initial attraction, and the first kiss. We've only just begun and yet the hour left us drained. I knew this wouldn't be easy but I didn't expect to feel so grainy, so grey afterwards. What's worse is knowing that I've hurt Ana so badly, and in these sessions I hurt her some more. Black says this we must reach a nadir, strip everything back to the base and then rebuild. I like Ana's analogy better – we are a Phoenix trying to rise again._

_I'm thinking about this in the ex-Red Room, looking up at the night sky through the sky-light when my cell rings. It's the cell I used for the Subs. I forgot that it was still on and surprised that the battery hadn't died. I hear it softly calling to me and I make my way through the apartment to the office where I keep it._

_It rings off but I'm curious to see who it is. I find it on the desk and as I reach for it, it rings again – an insipid ring tone like an old-fashioned telephone. A neutral sound jarring with the significance of the calls I used to receive._

_The name flashes up: Alice. She has interrupted my peace and I have let her. What does she want? I told her not to contact me. I note the surge of anger that reading her name invokes. The phone goes quiet in my hand._

_I need to finish this – not just for Ana but to prove to myself that I can, that I can let 'Old Christian' go. I call her back._

_She sounds breathless, a little needy. I like her better when she is bold. I say her name, try to keep the annoyance out but fail. She asks me how I am. The banality of it makes me laugh. How am I? Trying to stay alive._

_She's asking if she can see me. No, I can't see her. It may weaken my resolve, having the ghost of my estranged wife in the same room as me._

_I tell her it's not a good idea. She starts to plead with me, she tells me she misses me. Her confession makes me feel weary, drained. This is someone else I am hurting. I have to be strong and tell her it's over. In my quest to find an Ana replacement, I was losing the original, the One. I had been so stupid, and I was paying for it now, punished daily._

_I tell her it's over. I say the words for both her and for me to hear. It's over. That way of life is over. There is no more Red Room to go back to. _

_I wait for her reaction. She says she's downstairs. Shit! I didn't expect that. She says she wants to sign the contract. She calls me Sir. I swallow, hard. She sounds calm and controlled on the surface but I hear the bargaining, the plea that lies underneath. _

_It's all I'd wanted for weeks, Alice Thomas' neat little signature on the newly drawn-up contract. It would give me carte blanche to touch her, do all the things I wanted, all the things I'd missed. I wanted to kiss her in The Red Room – I hadn't kissed anyone in there besides Ana. I would let her touch me, too. I craved it, thought about it, imagined her little pink fingertips trailing my scars. I knew I would extend her contract, that three months wouldn't be enough. I lay awake at night, dreaming of making Alice mine._

_But now I don't want it anymore. The very thought now makes me sick. I __**must**__ be sick if what I wanted so badly would hurt my Ana so much. I'm filled with self-loathing at my sadistic ways. She's the only girl who should touch me – she gave me the gift of intimacy and I wanted to give it to someone else? _

_In the beat of a heart, I realized we had so much more to talk to Black about. In that instant, I was sure that we would rise from the ashes. _

_"__No, Alice. I'm sorry. I want to be with my wife. Sorry." I'm sorry if I am hurting her, but my wife comes first. _

_She's shouting at me, asking where this leaves her. I don't have an answer. I hang-up, turn off the phone forever and call my wife at home._


	29. Chapter 29

NOTE FROM RIOTTORI: THANKS FOR ALL THE COMMENTS AND REVIEWS. SORRY THAT I HAVEN'T HAD TIME TO REPLY TO ALL OF YOU TODAY BUT I HAVE READ THEM ALL AND TAKEN IN YOUR IDEAS. KEEP THEM COMING!

_Ana:_

Christian calls just as I'm getting into bed, his confession still fresh in my mind. I have been turning it over, examining it from different angles. _It's not your job to analyse it, _the voice chides. _It's your job to decide if you can live with it._

He tells me he's phoning to see how I am. I can hear his anxiety and I find a few words to reassure him. I know how guilty he feels and that his guilt hurts him but the voice and I firmly believe that he must experience this so he'll never do it again. My pain is as strong as his, they sit on a balance, perfectly weighted.

He wants to see me – one day as Mrs Grey, the next as Anastasia. I can tell he's worried that I may decline, that the confession has driven a wedge between us but I say yes. I am under no illusion that this is going to be hard and that it will get even harder before it gets better. I want the hope that we experience as Christian and Ana. For without that, what are we even fighting for?

* * *

We have a date in Escala. Each time I enter the apartment, it gets easier. I feel like the lingering ghosts are fading, being chased away by our efforts to heal.

He has cooked us dinner and I pull a face when he tells me. My husband is not the world's best cook. He laughs at my comical expression.

"I promise you'll like it. It's the one thing I can cook well." Stir-fry. That meal has punctuated our relationship throughout the years. It was the first meal he ever cooked for me. He made it again on the anniversary of the day we met, making sure the chicken was cooked all the way through as I was pregnant with Teddy. He used to cook it for the four of us when the children were little. We even referred to Sunday nights as 'Stir-fry Sundays'. The kids used to love it. I can't remember when it stopped. I wonder if he remembers all this. I wonder if this dish holds as much meaning for him as it does for me. The way he's looking at me tells me that it does.

I smile. "I love stir-fry," I say.

"Me too," he says, his eyes still shining with amusement at my teasing.

* * *

After dinner, we curl up on opposites sides of the couch. We have kept our conversation light, as usual. The heavy stuff is the domain of The Greys with Dr Black presiding over as capable facilitator.

Christian carries the wine over from the dining table and tops up my glass. I raise it to my mouth but stop as I realize he wants to make a toast.

"I want to thank you, Ana. For...giving me...this chance. I've been...I've been thinking a lot about us. I think I got...complacent. But...I...I believe in us," his eyes are boring into mine, flashing with honesty. He pulls an embarrassed face under my gaze. "OK, this must be the world's worst toast. I'm sorry." I smile him through it, showing my support. "I've got so much to say to you...so many things have occurred to me..." I watch him take a deep breath to compose himself. He raises his glass to me and I follow suit. "To you, Ana." Our glasses tinkle together, and shine as they catch the light.

* * *

I stay the night. We lie together, holding each other in the dark. I hear a distant siren, and roll over. His whisper finds me.

"Are you OK?" he asks.

I sigh. "Sort of." He goes to put the lamp on but I hold his arm to prevent him.

"Leave it off," I say. I can hear his confusion in the dark. "It's tomorrow," I say. "Let's pretend I'm Mrs Grey." I don't know if this is dangerous, talking without Black in the room but she can't see us for the next few days and I don't want us to regress. I will follow Dr Black's rules – I will just let him talk. He seemed to want to before, to want to make his thoughts palpable words. We had a whole lot of life to live without Black. We needed to do some of this on our own.

"You said you'd been thinking. What about?"

"Us." His voice sounds flat. He sounds worried at my experimentation.

"Talk into the dark, Christian. Pretend I'm not here."

* * *

_Christian:_

My wife is awake beside me in our apartment. I have my arms around her, I'm holding her. I almost have to pinch myself to believe it. I can't believe what I almost lost through my sheer stupidity. What scares me more than the beast inside which I thought needed placating every now and then, is the fear that she may never come back to me. I can see that she's trying, both on our dates and in Dr Black's office but I hate that I only have her in my arms for a few nights.

She stirs as a siren screeches into the night, the sound a synonym of despair.l I hug her a little tighter but she turns from me.

"Are you OK?"

My heartbeat quickens as I wait for the answer.

"Sort of." I wince at the reply.

I reach across to put the lamp on, to see her expression, to gauge how she's feeling. She holds my arm to prevent me. "Leave it off. It's tomorrow." So, she's going to leave me now that our date is over. Now that she's no longer Anastasia. "Let's pretend I'm Mrs Grey." Her statement makes me gulp. She wants me to talk. I don't know if I can. Can I talk to her about Alice, unchaperoned? Even her name on my lips in this room could hurt us.

"You said you'd been thinking. About what?"

"Us." I notice how much worry is in that short word.

"Talk into the dark, Christian," she coaxes. "Pretend I'm not here."

* * *

"I said before, how I'd got complacent. I had." I wait for her response but none comes. It's slightly unnerving. "I think I...took you for granted. Thought you'd always be there. That you'd never leave. This sounds perverse but," my swallow is audible, "it's like you gave me the ability to cheat." I rush on, trying to explain myself. "Shit, that sounds wrong, like you're culpable, but you're not. It's just, you were everything I needed at home, you loved me almost unconditionally, like a _mother_ should. This is going to sound selfish," I realize that tears are gathering at the corners of my eyes, threatening to spill over, as I lie face up, staring at the dark. "I loved you for loving me so much. Of course I'd felt that love within my adoptive family but I always felt that they were duty-bound to love me. But you...you didn't have to and yet...you did. And you probably loved me more than anyone ever has. Your love...spoiled me. Christ, this is too hard to explain."

"Go on," she encourages.

"I thought you'd never leave me, no matter what I did. That I _thought _you'd never leave me, stopped me from having to be strong,strong enough to resist. I was wrong. I see that now. I will...never...take you for granted again. If you come back to me." I'm crying now and she reaches over and clasps my hand. "Tell me we'll be OK, Ana. Please." I pull her hand up to my mouth and kiss it with intense fervor.

"Shhh," she soothes. "Sleep, now. Sleep."

And I drift off, holding her hand.


	30. Chapter 30

**NOTE FROM RIOTTORI: I'M WORKING AT CHIPPING AWAY AT THE TRUTH TO REVEAL WHAT REALLY HAPPENED BETWEEN ALICE AND CHRISTIAN. ONCE AGAIN, THANK YOU FOR THE REVIEWS AND SUPPORT. IT'S WHAT MAKES ME RUN FOR MY COMPUTER BEFORE I'VE EVEN HAD A CUP OF COFFEE IN THE MORNING! **

_Alice:_

_The weekend after the meal with Mr Grey was agonizing. I couldn't wait for work on Monday to see if he was feeling the same way as me. I had given him just enough so his precious family-time would be ruined by impure thoughts of his little assistant. I had to lock my cell with his number stored in it in my desk drawer so I wouldn't call him. I didn't want to break the spell I had so carefully woven._

_The minute I got to work, Helen told me that Mr Grey would like to see me. I nodded and turned quickly away to hide the knowing smile that spread over my lips. Mr Grey had it bad for me! For me! Alice Thomas! I went directly to his office, rapped on the door and waited to be called in._

_He was looking out of the window, his back to me, as mine had been on Friday night. _

_"__Good morning, Alice."_

_"__Good morning, Mr Grey." I could tell the formality of how I had addressed him bothered him. His back stiffened beneath its black jacket._

_"__You left something in my apartment." I didn't reply. I didn't like that I couldn't see his face. I wanted to take back the upper-hand, unnerve him a little._

_"__Did you hear me?" I still didn't reply. I was playing a dangerous game. He began to turn and I knew I had won._

_He had spent a tortured weekend wondering why I had fled, wondering if he would ever make me his, I could tell from his expression. I needed to give him a little hope._

_I walked slowly to him, my gaze never leaving his. I didn't let words disrupt the mood, dampen our desire. When I stood before him, I reached up, took his head in my hands and ran my fingers through his hair, tugging ever so slightly. His grey eyes studied me the entire time, excited by my unpredictability, what I would do next. I allowed a small moan to escape, to show him the power he had over me, that just a look could incite this reaction from me. His eyes widened but I saw something beneath the lust. It looked a little like doubt. I had to get rid of that, annihilate it. _

_I pulled his head down to mine and gently ran my tongue over his bottom lip. I received a groan for my provocative action. I pulled my head back a little and locked eyes with him again, ran my own tongue over my lip then tugged it very gently with my teeth. _

_I saw that it had worked, that I had dragged him to me, away from her. The only thing that now pulsed in him was pure lust and he was driven by it. As it took over, he took control. His hand flew up to my mouth and he grabbed my lower lip with his long fingers, eased it from between my teeth. His hand reached round to the back of my head and he pulled me in to him. His mouth found mine. He kissed me with an intensity I had dreamed about. His desire, his need to subdue me, to conquer me was all there in his kiss._

_I broke off, gasping. "Christian." _

_"__Alice." My name left his mouth like a growl. _

_He stepped back, assessing me, watching the effect he had over me. I continued to breathe heavily, to show him evidence of his influence._

_"__I want you back at Escala tonight. I want to show you something." I nodded my agreement. I wanted the last words to echo around his office to be my name. I backed out still watching him. Only later when I was alone in the bathroom did I allow myself a victor's smile._

_Ana:_

He swears he didn't touch her. He claims they only kissed. I don't know if I believe him – certainly, Dr Black doesn't look like she does. I'm staring at her so I won't look at my husband. I want to focus on his words, really listen to what he's saying.

"I only showed her The Red Room. We never made it in there." _Because you stopped them. What would have happened if you hadn't gone to the office that day? If you hadn't suspected that something was going on and followed them? _The voice is attacking, today. They are all valid questions that will need to be discussed but I find myself shying away from them. I don't want to know the answers just yet.

"So the only sexual contact you had with this woman was kissing?"

"Yes." A small sigh of relief is released. _Big deal! _The voice likes Dr Black, agrees with her that the sexual act itself is only part of the problem.

"What would you have done to her in The Red Room? What did you want to do?" My heart begins to race at Dr Black's questioning. I close my eyes and try to block out Christian's response. The voice won't let me. It prevents me from putting my hands up to my ears. This is what I've been waiting to hear. _You need to listen to this, _it shouts.

He is silent. His silence says it all.

She wasn't just a Sub. It wasn't just about sex. He wanted vanilla with her. He would have let her touch him, go where only I had been. He would have made love to her not 'fucked hard'. _Just like you suspected. _I can't take it. It's too much to bear. The cold, hard truth chases me from the room.


	31. Chapter 31

**NOTE FROM RIOTTORI: OK, GUYS. I KNOW THAT THIS IS A CHEATY-CHAPTER (ONLY 800 OR SO WORDS) BUT I ****_REALLY _****WANTED TO UPDATE! I HOPE YOU ENJOY READING THIS AS MUCH AS I ENJOYED WRITING IT. I'M BRACED FOR YOUR RESPONSES! REVIEWS AND COMMENTS NOT ONLY APPRECIATED, BUT ACTUALLY THE REASON I GET UP IN THE MORNING. LOL!**

_Ana:_

I refuse to see him. I just can't. I'm not playing a game. I just can't. I thought we could get back to where we'd been. We just can't. I didn't know it would feel like this. I swear my heart actually broke in two in Black's office all those weeks ago. I don't think any amount of talking can put it together again. He hasn't contacted me for a few days. I think he knows ours is a lost battle.

It's as bad as I had suspected. He wanted vanilla with her, he was going to let her in to the places I had created. I always felt that both Christian and I had been virgins when we met: I was in the traditional sense of the word and he was, emotionally. We experienced so many firsts together. And now he wanted that with her. Unforgivable. That she didn't actually get to follow in my footsteps, follow the path I had opened up in Christian, is just a technicality. That he wanted to, is the real, unforgivable betrayal.

I don't want to see James, either. He has called, desperate to see me. He'd joked that his eye had returned to normal after so many weeks so I wouldn't feel guilty sitting opposite him at dinner. Our laughter was hollow – we both knew the real reason I couldn't see him. He told me he'd wait til I was ready.

I've exorcised the voice, too. Although at night I now have no protection against Mrs Robinson, I prefer the silence. I've had words to last me a lifetime. That's enough for now.

I throw myself into work. I crave the written word, avoid the spoken one. I work from home, get manuscripts and proposals couriered to my house. I barricade myself in, switch the outside world off. And I get lost in other people's lives.

I pick up another manuscript and see Laura's neat note attached to it.

_A,_

_I think this could be great. Tell me what you think,_

_L._

It was rare for Laura to be so keen about a novel. I skip the Query letter to get to the work itself, feeling a rush of excitement which surprises me. Nice to see that I can still have happy emotions. I turn the page, intrigued.

* * *

I can't believe what I have just read. I throw the manuscript onto the coffee-table in front of me and reel back from it, as if it's alive. My hands are shaking, the room is spinning, I think I'm going to faint. I gasp for air, desperate. I look back down at the papers, the name gloating at me from the whiteness of the page. How had I not noticed it before? _A. Thomas. _Alice Thomas. Alice has written a book about her relationship with my husband.

* * *

_Alice:_

_He'd forced me to use Plan B. I'd hoped that Plan A would have worked but it hadn't. I strung it out for too long and then I'd lost it. I should have worked faster. That will be a lesson learned for next time. _

_I allowed myself the cab ride home from Escala to mourn the loss of Christian. The driver eyed me in the rear-view mirror but when we pulled up at my house, he didn't even charge me. I thanked him through my tears. _

_When I walked into the house, I ignored my mother, who was watching a game-show and drinking vodka, and went upstairs. I switched on my computer and got started, the tears drying as I typed._

_I'd given Grey Publishing first refusal of the manuscript. I thought it only fair._

* * *

_Ana: _

I pick up the phone, trembling, actually, physically trembling and phone my estranged husband. i tell Helen it's urgent and she hastily puts me through. He answers on the first ring. My voice escapes in breaths.

"Chris-tian?"

"Ana, what's wrong? Is it the kids?" He sounds panicked and there's a small part of me that wants his pain to be prolonged. But I'm not like that. I'm not that cruel. I should learn to be.

"Did Alice sign an NDA?"

"What?"

I take another breath and ask again, more slowly this time. "Did you make her sign an NDA?" I close my eyes, suddenly so sure of the answer.

"No." Anger crashes over me – anger that he had been so stupid, so blinded by this girl. "She told me we didn't need one..."

"SHE'S NOT ME CHRISTIAN._ I _DIDN'T NEED ONE TWENTY YEARS AGO. _SHE_ DID. I CAN'T BELIEVE WHAT YOU'VE DONE."


	32. Chapter 32

NOTE FROM RIOTTORI: THANK YOU FOR YOUR REVIEWS, SUPPORT AND IDEAS. I'M SO PLEASED YOU GUYS LIKED THE TWIST. THANK YOU ALSO FOR THE MESSAGES AND COMMENTS THAT MAKE ME LAUGH OUT LOUD. I REALLY NEED THEM AFTER WRITING THIS STORY! I THOUGHT I'D INJECT SOME ACTION IN, SEEING AS MOST OF THE STORY HAS BEEN SLOW-BURNING PAIN! LOL! THANKS FOR ENJOYING THE RIDE WITH ME.

THIS WILL BE MY LAST POST TODAY (AND I THINK IT'S MY 3RD BUT HEY, WHO'S COUNTING?) I'M FEELING A LITTLE DRAINED BUT I WILL WRITE MORE TOMORROW. ;)

_Christian:_

I race home, speeding the entire way. I almost had Taylor drive me, scared that the anger that was coursing through my veins would blur my vision. This must be what a blind rage feels like.

I pull up to the house, the gravel scattering under the wheels. I jump out of the car and run to the house, where my wife is standing, leaning against the doorway, waiting for me.

"Ana." She turns before I can read her expression and she leads me through to the living room. I see the manuscript on the table, waiting for us. The enemy has infiltrated the home.

I rake both hands through my hair and begin pacing. How had I allowed myself to be played like this? God, I really thought she was just like Ana. How wrong I had been!

"We're going to have to act fast," Ana says, her voice calm and clear. I look at her, feel gratitude flood through me. She said 'we'. "I contacted Laura. She's the only other person who has read the manuscript at our company but we don't know if other people have got their hands on it."

"Is it bad?" I ask. She looks at me.

"It's...detailed. She has changed the names – you are now Mr Sebastian Green. She's got a sense of humor, that one!" I can tell she's furious, but controlling it. "And I'm Hannah."

I blink. "You're in it?"

She nods. "I'm so sorry, Ana." This must be utterly devastating for her, humiliating to have to read about my infidelity in black and white. What would this do to the family? Had I single-handedly sullied the Grey name? I hit my head with the flat of my hand.

Ana crosses in front of me and picks up the offending pages that have caused so much damage.

"Here," she says, thrusting it at me. "Read it."

Warily, I take the manuscript, my thumb obscuring Alice's name in bold.

* * *

My wife is sitting, watching me. I have been silent this entire time, reading, while the flames of hatred licked through me, smoldering. She tricked me. It was all a ploy, an act to get me. To catch her king, as the novel is called.

It's written from the perspective of a girl called Alicia, a waitress at a restaurant. She sees Sebastian Green, a wealthy businessman and his wife, Hannah, having dinner and decides to take him from her.

I shake my head in disbelief. How had I ever thought Alice was anything like Ana? She is descriptive in her pursuit of me, how she had acted like Ana in order to rip me away from her. I close my eyes and hold my head. I'd put Ana in danger with my actions.

"Read it," she commands.

I continue, turning each page. It's all in there – our first kiss, our date, her reaction to the room. Oh, God. If this ever got out, the damage this would do.

I start to feel physically sick when I read on, read about their first visit to The Room. Ana has just been exposed to this, hate on a page.

"This didn't happen." I say.

"Didn't it?" Her voice snaps at me, bites at me.

"No, Ana. None of this happened. It's all lies."

"Why should I believe you Christian? Why should I believe anything you say? The first bit's accurate. It's just like you described it."

"She's lying about The Room. We never went in there, I promise."

"You're just full to the brim with promises and apologies, aren't you, Christian?"

I don't respond.

"How does it feel?" she pokes at me with her words. "How does it feel to know it was all a charade? All an act?"

No words will express how I feel so I keep silent.

"READ!" she shouts. And I obey.

* * *

When I finish, when I have turned the last page, I look up. Her expression is unreadable but she's still watching me.

"What do you think? Quite the little story teller, our Alice! I especially like the ending – when Hannah has her break-down. That was fun to read!"

"Ana..."

"Just don't." She sounds tired again, drained. She takes a deep breath and begins, in a new voice, officious and strong. "We only have one option. I'm going to have to buy the book."

"ARE YOU SERIOUS?" I shout, my fury spilling out.

"Listen, Christian. Please. I'm never going to publish it but I need to have the rights so that no-one else can publish it. This could be huge, especially as she can claim that it's based on real people, real events. Lots of editors will want to publish it. Sex sells, believe me. Don't you see? We can't ever let this get out. And because she didn't...sign the NDA, she can change the names to our names and we can't do anything about it. She's warning me Christian, and getting wonderful revenge all at once. You really underestimated her."

"No, I overestimated her. I thought she was good like you. But there's no-one like you." She doesn't respond to that.

"Now, this doesn't stop her going to the gossip mags." She sighs, heavily. I immediately think of Teddy and Phoebe, them reading about their parents' sex lives spilled over the news, uncovered for all to see. The Sub/Dom aspect, they'd never understand. The betrayal of their mother, they'd never forgive. "We need to get her to sign the NDA."

"How do we do that?" I ask, my mind whirring.

"We have two options. I think that she's motivated by money. What do you know about her for sure? How similar are Alice and Alicia?"

"I don't know."

"What?"

"I don't know much about her."

Her mouth drops open in shock. "Don't tell me you didn't do a background check."

I shake my head and she copies me, hers showing incredulity. She sighs again. "In the book, she writes that Alicia lived with her mother in a cramped house and craved the luxurious lifestyle. You could probably pay her off."

"NO! I'm not crawling to her, begging her to sign."

"We don't have much choice. Our aim is damage limitation. Christian, we can't let this get out. There's another option but...I don't think you're going to like it..."


	33. Chapter 33

NOTE FROM RIOTTORI: HERE'S THE POST I PROMISED. I HOPE YOU ENJOY IT.

_Ana:_

"I need you to listen to what I'm going to say without reacting. OK?" I'm speaking in a voice that I used to possess. I am calm and controlled, belying my real feelings. I wait for him to agree.

It's strange that a few hours ago when I first pulled the manuscript onto my lap to read, I was intrigued, excited to see what "To Catch A King" had in store. I was influenced by Laura's interest and hoping that we'd found fresh talent to take my mind off the collapse of my marriage.

I turned the page, began to read. It only took the first chapter in for the cold realization to creep in, to stroke over my shoulders, make me shudder. This was _my_ life I was reading about. The worst aspects of my life laid bare, exposed, written about in descriptive prose. The practiced becoming of me, the calculated seduction of my husband, the point that he succumbed and kissed her. I was shaking while reading it, knew that I should stop, but desperate to know more. This was an insight into my husband's fidelity, words that I could pore over, take my time with, investigate the depth of his betrayal, count the layers of lies.

Alice, the story-teller, gets her 'hook' in Chapter 10, the twist in the plot to keep the reader interested. This is when she reveals Sebastian's penchant for the darker side of sex. After work one day, the Monday after the Friday night when they'd shared dinner in a restaurant – out for all to see – and shared another kiss, he shows her The Red Room. She is instantly excited by it, wants to enter with him, wants him to control her. She knows that this is his dirty little secret and that her guarding of his secret will allow her to reap the rewards. The reveal of the room acts like an aphrodisiac for both of them, but they agree to wait, enjoying the feeling of delayed gratification.

But that night, they have sex in our bed, according to her. On the sheets Hannah – I – have picked out. She claims it made the release all the more thrilling. Over the next days, they make love on the billiard table, on the floor of the kitchen, back in bed, every inch of my apartment contaminated. They are building up to their first time in The Room, using ordinary sex as foreplay.

I have to skim the descriptions of their love-making. I find myself picturing them together, his hand on her skin, her touching him. _He let her touch him! _They fall asleep in each other's arms, intertwined and sated after making love. _I think I'm going to be sick._

I plough on, read about their first trip to The Room. What hurts me – perhaps irrationally – is that she calls it The Red Room, my word for it. Christian must have called it that when he introduced it to her. He must have been thinking about me then, but it still didn't stop him from crossing the threshold with her.

I skim the 'action', my eye occasionally catching on a word which stabs at my fragile heart: 'Flogger', 'blindfold', 'climax'.

The book continues in the same vein as they enjoy more sordid hours in The Red Room. The fact that it mirrors my beginnings with Christian is eerie. They still make love outside The Red Room, date, get to know one another. In Chapter 36, he tells her he loves her.

In Chapter 38, she becomes his Dom for a change, inflicting pain that he enjoys. He takes it as punishment for what he was doing to his poor, little wife. She knows something is up and has started her slow, spiral down.

When Sebastian leaves Hannah in Chapter 45, she has a break-down. Alicia is instated as Editor of Green Publishing (anyone who knows even a little about us is going to know that this is our lives) and marries her 'king'. She usurps me both at home and work, fitting into my life cleanly, neatly. Cutting me out of it. I feel sad, so sad that somebody could hate me like this, with such an intensity. Her hatred poured over the page, her delight at my demise. I was reading my past in this manuscript, was Chapter 45 my future?

_No, _the voice is back. _That could have been you if you hadn't found me. _I think that's true. I owe the voice my life.

* * *

"I don't want to give this girl money either," I'm back in the present, facing my furious husband. Part of me enjoyed watching him read the manuscript, his shock that he had been so phenomenally tricked. I want him in pain, just like I am. His indiscretion had put the Greys in danger. I know he'll learn from this. _No fucking NDA, no fucking background check. Shit, he must have fallen hard for this girl. _

"The second option doesn't require giving her any money. But...you'd have to...you'd have to see her again."

Christian is up and out of his chair with a roar. He's pacing and running his hands through his hair again. I don't think I've ever seen him this angry.

"Listen," I say, standing to pull him back to his chair, to make him listen to my logic. "Alice doesn't know that _you _know about the manuscript, that I have let you in on it. While part of her motivation is money, I think she still wants you."

I can see him open his mouth but I hold up my hand to silence him. "I think she wanted me to read this, to ruin us. She's so descriptive, she knew it would hurt me. We could pretend that you know nothing about this. I will file for a divorce – that will definitely make the papers – and you'd be 'free' to be with her. When you start up the relationship again, you'll introduce the NDA. "

His face is ashen. "No."

"Christian, please. The only way to get her out of your life, without paying her off, is for her to sign. Otherwise there's no way of getting a gagging order. She'll be able to say whatever she likes about you, about us."

"No," he says again. "If I'm in the same room as that...that...I'd kill her."

The look in his eyes tells me he means it.


	34. Chapter 34

**NOTE FROM RIOTTORI: THIS IS ANOTHER SHORT CHAPTER BUT I WANT TO MOVE THE ACTION ON. I'M PLEASED THAT WE'RE GETTING MORE OF STRONG ANA - I MUCH PREFER HER THIS WAY. THANKS FOR THE REVIEWS. ONCE I POST THIS, I'LL WRITE MORE SO I SHOULD DEFINITELY PUBLISH MORE TODAY. ENJOY...**

_Christian:_

Divorce? My wife is talking about divorcing me? I feel the blood drain from my head as if I'm slowly turning to stone. She wants me to be with Alice? I can't, I physically cannot be near that girl. I could do her damage, lasting damage. I feel the rage flex my hands into fists.

The things she's written about, the lies that followed the truth in the first chapters, may have just killed my marriage. How can I prove to Ana that I never touched her? That I wasn't lying in Black's office?

Hatred rips through me and I clench my fists harder. I have an urge to beat the shit out of one specific brown-haired girl.

"No," I say, decisively. "If I'm in the same room as that...that...I'd kill her."

I look at my wife's face and see relief crash over it.

"What?" I ask, wondering at the root of the relief. She shakes her head and the look disappears.

"Then you pay her off. I reckon a million will do it." It's not the money that bothers me, it's that she's won. I played right into her hands. I'd lost everything because of my stupidity and now I was going to give her a financial reward. "A million to sign the NDA and then we can bury this ugly episode."

Her words sound full of promise. Ana has stunned me once again. Bury the ugly episode and move on. I reach for her, to bridge the space between her to take her hand, to thank her, to say sorry, so much emotion encompassed in one touch, but she rears back, away from me. I realize I have misunderstood. The 'we' she was referring to is the family, not just her and me.

She stands, my cue to leave. "I'll handle everything. Fax me over an NDA and I'll have her sign. I'll arrange the money through Grey Publishing, make it look like I'm paying her for the manuscript."

"No, Ana. I don't want you to meet her. She could be dangerous."

She fixes me with a stare, fury residing in the bright blue. "So can I."

* * *

_Alice:_

She wants to meet me to discuss my manuscript. I received a simple letter stating that Grey Publishing was very interested in my work. I thought they might be. I read the letter again, lying on my bed, and I allow myself a little laugh. After the upset of the past few weeks, I deserve a little happiness. I can't wait for the meeting. It is going to be so much fun.

* * *

_Christian:_

She won't tell me when the meeting is taking place so I've taken matters into my own hands. My wife can be so stubborn sometimes. I've hired my guy to be on constant surveillance outside Grey Publishing and another to watch Miss Thomas' house.

I did my background check in the end. Alice Thomas, 24. English major, graduated with honors. This I knew. Lives with her mother in suburbia. Mom, abandoned by husband, Alice's dad, when she was pregnant with Alice. Never re-married. No serious relationship. Works sporadically as a waitress. Spends money on booze. I could ruin them, I could annihilate them. I will. As soon as she signs the NDA. Alice Thomas is going to wish she'd never set her sights on Christian Grey.

Every day I wait for the phone call to say that Miss Thomas is on her way to meet my wife. And today is no different.

* * *

_Ana:_

I have contacted her. I have arranged a meeting, a little tet-a-tet with the woman who stole my husband. I'm going to get a proper look at her instead of the rushed encounter at Christian's office, the obscured view of her at Lorenzo's. I am perfecting my act, the hurt little wife, the loser. I almost can't wait to bring another shade of Ana to life. The voice cackles in the background.


	35. Chapter 35

**NOTE FROM RIOTTORI: THIS SHOULD TIE UP A FEW OF THOSE LOOSE ENDS AND ANSWER SOME OF YOUR QUESTIONS. ENJOY...**

_Alice:_

I have bought a new suit for the meeting. I want to look like I mean business. It makes me look taller and I notice that it changes the way I walk. I stride in this suit, I strut in it. It was way more than I can afford but it is well worth it.

I pin an imitation Lalique brooch to the lapel. It's curved in the shape of a butterfly, a graduation present I bought for myself. (My mom had got me a bottle of vodka.) I saw the brooch and had to have it – it was a symbol of me, a butterfly emerging from a cocoon, shrugging off her old life in preparation for the new. I thought I would have that with Christian, but I had been wrong.

* * *

_I arrived at Escala on Monday evening after work. I was wearing the coat that he had brought in for me, noticed with a smile that it had been dry cleaned. I couldn't wait for him to look after me like that all the time._

_I tried to suppress the escalating nerves as I rode up in the elevator. He said he had something to show me. I couldn't think what it could be. I looked in the mirror, perfected my Mrs Grey face and turned to enter my new life._

_He greeted me at the elevator, held his hand out for my coat which I shrugged off, aware off his eyes on my body as I did this._

_He led me through to his living room and offered me a drink. He laughed at my choice – scotch on the rocks – but brought it to me, the ice tinkling against the side of the glass._

_I told him it was what my daddy drinks, raised the glass to his Hendricks, then to my mouth and sipped, my eyes never leaving his._

_I asked him, softly, what it was that he wanted to show me. He asked if I could wait until after dinner. Unblinking, I replied that I couldn't. He got up, reached for my hand and led me down a corridor. I held my breath when we got to the end, wondering what we were going to do. Whatever it was, I was willing._

_He unlocked the door on the right and pushed the door open._

* * *

_He waited in the doorway, quietly, for my reaction. It wasn't the room itself that excited me, it was what showing me its contents meant. He was confiding in me, he had chosen me to share his secret with. How I acted now was paramount to determining our path and my future with this man. I walked over to the bed, ran my hand along the side of it, reached up to gently stroke the harness, trailed my fingers across the red of the wall. _

_When I felt I had spent long enough inside for him to always imagine me in here, that I had made my mark, I approached him. I looked up at him a little shyly, my eyes full of questions._

_"__What would you like to do to me in here?" He smiled down at me, his eyes reassuring._

_"__Come. Let's eat and we'll discuss it. I promise I won't hurt you. The Red Room isn't about pain."_

_I nodded and took his hand as he led me back down the corridor, away from the room that held my future and my power._

_Over dinner, I told him that I would have to consider his proposal. He said he understood, told me that I should google anything I didn't know and that I could ask him questions – discreetly of course – about anything I needed to be explained._

_I cut the night short – told him I was tired and a little overwhelmed; I always wanted to be the one to leave, make him want me even more. His expression told me that he wasn't sure whether I'd say yes or not. I would torture him for a little while longer._

_At home, I stayed up all night, googling the word Submissive, reading anything I could on the subject and I began perfecting a new character to become. Sub Alice. _

* * *

_I kept him guessing the entire week. He called me into his office on Tuesday to ask if I had any questions. I told him I didn't yet, that I had started with my research but there was still so much more to do._

_He handed me a copy of 'our' contract, told me to look over it which I did at home that night. It consisted of 'hard' and 'soft' limits which all looked rather self-explanatory. He wanted me to be his Sub for a month but he could extend the period if so agreed by both of us. He would dictate what I wore, what I ate, what time I went to bed. He would have control of me totally – at work, at home, with him in The Red Room. I was willing, more than willing. But I didn't want to reveal that to him just yet. A few more days of torture would do it, I told myself._

* * *

_But I didn't fucking get those days, did I? His fucking wife must have found out and spoiled everything. One day, he was feeding me oysters in a fancy restaurant, begging me to sign the contract, and two days later he terminated my work contract and paid me off - a rather paltry amount for my silence. _

Well, she would pay for ripping my carefully planned future from me, robbing me of my happiness. Today was Mrs Grey's judgment day.


	36. Chapter 36

**NOTE FROM RIOTTORI: LET THE GAMES BEGIN...**

_Ana:_

I'm sitting in the office, waiting for her. Her work is spread in front of me, the words that had so hurt me now serve to make me furious. The sweet splash of anger, an emotion that I can use, drips deep inside. I can almost hear it, trickling through.

I am making her wait. I am putting her on edge. She will wait for me to call her in. I imagine her out there, all false bravado to go with her fake persona. In a few short minutes I will come face-to-face with a cheap imitation of me. This is no longer about her and Christian. This is about me and the girl who thought she could replace me; the girl who thought she was stronger than me; the girl who brought out the worst shades of Ana – her weakness and shame. And today she will wish she'd never fucked with Anastasia Grey.

* * *

_Alice:_

I'm waiting to go in. I look around the open-plan office. The ubiquitous sound of the work place – people typing, answering phones – is an interesting backdrop to the show-down that is about to happen in Anastasia Grey's office. I am going to ruin her, I will replace her name plate on the door with my own: Alice Grey. She will give me those days back that I desperately needed to take her husband.

I hope she hasn't told him about the manuscript but I have a feeling that the detail I went into will have driven them even further apart. They haven't been back to Black's for weeks. She hasn't visited Escala. If she has told him, I guess getting Christian is over. Then it will be all about the money. I'll settle for the money but I really want Mr Grey.

* * *

_Ana:_

I take a deep breath, stand and smooth my skirt down. I want to be standing when she enters. I want us to be eye-to-eye. The voice is telling me to go easy. I may have to play a victim – it depends what she wants. I am about to find out. I pick up the phone with a surprisingly steady hand.

"Marie, can you send my 12 o'clock in, please?"

She doesn't knock, just pushes the door open. I bet that behavior wouldn't have been accepted at my husband's office. She stands before me, a trace of a smirk on her face. What I wouldn't do to wipe it off her. I was sounding more and more like my husband!

"Miss Thomas?"

"Mrs Grey?" Her eyes are challenging and she emphasizes the 'Mrs' part of my name. Christian was right about the new generation – they were blood-thirsty.

"Take a seat." I am careful to sound as bland as possible. I need to know what she wants from me, from my husband, before I choose the role to play.

She sits, the smirk becoming wider when she sees her work fanned out before me.

"I found your work very interesting."

She looks at me and I hear the smirk coating her words. "Hmm, I thought you might, Mrs Grey." I'd never known a person so filled with venom that it penetrated everything about her – her words, her posture, her expressions. _**This**__ is who your husband fell for? __**This**__ is who reminded him of you? God, lust really did make you blind. And stupid._

I push the voice to one side, but not completely away. I may need it later.

"May I ask you about the inspiration behind your work?" I am treating her as I would any new author.

She flashes another smile at me.

"Your husband."

It's been said, it's out there. I am almost stunned by how brazen she is. She obviously wants to get down to business, no sugar-coating, no pussy-footing around. Our eyes meet over the desk, the blues lock together. She is now unsmiling and unblinking. "It's all about my experiences with your husband and the world he introduced me to."

"What do you want?" I drop the facade. I am looking at her as wife now, not editor.

"Have you told Christian about the manuscript?" I cannot stand to hear my husband's name on her lips. I swallow.

"No."

"Good," she says and flashes me another smile. "Smart girl." She's patronizing me? Under the desk, my fingernails dig into the pads of my palms.

"I want you to divorce your husband."

I breathe in deeply through my nose and exhale through my mouth. It calms me slightly, but only slightly.

"And what do I get in return?"

"The manuscript."

"I could just purchase the manuscript from you." I pretend that I'm making a deal.

She laughs, a cold, hollow sound. "No deal. I don't only want money."

"And what will you do if I say no?"

She shrugs as if we're discussing something light, not the calculated collapse of my marriage. "I'll take it to another publisher. I'm sure someone else will be interested, especially when I change the names back."

I blink at her. "You can't," I gasp. "You must have signed an NDA..."

She laughs again, injecting more ice into my office.

"I never signed an NDA."

I close my eyes. "Oh, Christian."

"I know. Your husband was quite careless."

I shake my head slowly then open my eyes.

"Listen," I say, sounding desperate to make a deal. "This could do irrevocable damage if it ever got out. Please, Alice." She assesses me with her cold stare, showing absolutely no remorse.

"Divorce your husband. Let him be free to come to me. If it wasn't for you," she practically spits at me, "we'd be together now. He loves me."

The girl is delusional.

_Is she? _Asks the voice. _Or has your husband been lying to you_ _even more than you originally thought?_


	37. Chapter 37

**NOTE FROM RIOTTORI: MY HEART WAS ACTUALLY HAMMERING WRITING THIS. PLEASE BEAR WITH ME. EVERYTHING WILL BE RESOLVED.**

* * *

_Ana:_

"Why do you even want him anyway?" she's asking. "After what we did to you?" I hate that she's using 'we' for her and Christian. But he had given her the right with his actions.

She continues to jab at my pain with her words. "We fucked all over your apartment, we slept together in your bed. You've read the manuscript, you know what we got up to in The Red Room. Do you really want him back after all that?"

I shake my head, slowly, sadly.

She feeds off my weakness. "The only reason we stopped was because he got caught. He felt guilty. You are the mother of his children, after all." She makes it sound like an accusation. "But he loves_ me._" She's almost shouting now, her emotion raw and obvious.

"Did he let you touch him?" I ask. I need to know.

She blinks, caught off-guard. "Of course. We were lovers."

"Where?"

"Everywhere."

"On his chest?"

She eyes me, unsure. "Yes."

"What about his scars?"

"Which scars?" She sounds confused.

"His scars on his legs from the accident?" I'm bluffing. I watch her slow nod, her eyes fill with relief. "Yes, I touched those scars. I kissed those scars." I get my answer. She has no idea what I'm talking about. She's lying.

"OK," I say, suddenly decisive. "I'll make a deal. You give me the manuscript and sign an NDA and I'll divorce Christian."

I watch her consider the deal, work it round her mind. "I want you to stay away from us," she says. "I don't want you getting in the way."

"Fine."

"Phone him now. With me present. Phone your husband and tell him you want a divorce." I swallow. _You can do this. _

"And then you'll sign?" She nods, her eyes wide, she's sitting forward in her chair in anticipation.

I put the phone on speaker and dial the number that I know so well – his cell. The seconds spin by as we wait for him to answer.

"Ana?" He sounds tense. It's our first contact since this Alice shit-storm hit, when he read the manuscript and the scales fell from his eyes. I didn't want him to know about this meeting – I wanted to handle it.

"Christian." I sound cold, resigned. Alice, across the desk, smiles. "I need you to set up a meeting with Michael. I'm filing for divorce." I brace myself for his reaction. There may be too much feeling to give Alice any hope. I know my husband still loves me and is desperate not to lose me. He visited Dr Black with me, he ripped out The Red Room.

"Fine," he replies, his ice meeting mine. I repress the gasp that threatens to escape from me. _He's fine with this. He's given up the fight._ "I'll schedule a meeting for next week. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm very busy." The line goes dead and I feel my world darken a little more.

Alice stretches, cat-like, basking in the light of her win.

"Oops," she purrs. "That was easier than I thought. He offered you absolutely no resistance. He's happy to get away from you, I told you!"

I replace the handset and bite my lower lip, determined not to cry. I don't want to fuel her flames of hatred even more.

I take a ragged breath. "Right. Now your part of the deal. I'll run off a copy of an NDA for you to sign and a contract for the manuscript. No matter what happens between you and my husband, no matter what he's put me through, I don't want any of it getting out."

"That's just what I've been banking on, Mrs Grey. Your sweetness isn't just an affectation, is it? It goes all the way through you. You should learn to be a bit meaner. It will help you in this life." She frowns at me while she imparts this advice, as if I'm pathetic, dumb.

We wait in silence for the paperwork to print.

* * *

I'm back in business-mode as I run her through the contract for her manuscript.

"It doesn't really matter," she says, languidly. "It's never going to see the light of day."

"I just want this done properly," I respond.

"Give me a pen. I want to get this over with."

She glances at the paperwork, turns the first page over, skims down, flicks through, quickly. "Where do I sign?" She sounds bored, as if I'm keeping her.

I lean over the desk, press my forefinger on a few lines. She signs with flourish. I turn the page, she signs at the bottom. I've gone over this process hundreds of times over the years but I've never felt more nervous.

I pull the contract from her and hand her the NDA. I watch her eyes scan the page. I try to control my breathing, try to calm my hammering heart. The pen is in her hand, she's about to sign. I'm leaning forward, willing her. Her pen makes contact with the paper. I close my eyes, listen to the scratch of her signature, relish the sound. I open my eyes, and take the NDA. I pick up the contract with her signature that she has just willingly given to me and the NDA and head to the safe. I type in the combination code, place the documents safely in and close the door.

I can feel the smile spread from ear to ear as I turn to face Alice. Her own victorious smirk slides from her face when she sees mine.

"Oh, you silly little girl," I say, my voice sounding like the voice. "First rule of business. You must_ always_ read before you sign." The voice and I laugh as one.


	38. Chapter 38

**NOTE FROM RIOTTORI: THIS IS A SHORT CHAPTER BECAUSE I REALLY NEED FEED-BACK. PLEASE REVIEW AS QUICKLY AS YOU CAN. THANKS.**

_Christian:_

My guy phones me a little before 12. Miss Thomas is approaching Grey Publishing. I grab my cell, shout to Helen that I have to go out and run to the elevator, precious seconds ticking away as I wait. I get in, get my car keys out of my pocket, ready to go and run out of the elevator towards my car. I roar off towards Grey Publishing and my wife...

My stomach lurches when I pull out of the parking and see the line of traffic preventing me from getting to my Ana. I lean on the horn, impatient. Come on, come on. Move it! We inch forward, slowly, frustratingly slowly. I feel my blood pressure rising, matching my elevated heart rate. I honk my horn again. I can't stand this, I have to get moving. The traffic starts to clear and we're speeding up, we're moving, I'm closing the gap between me and my wife. I'm coming, I shout as I race forward, slicing the air in front of me with my car...

My cell rings as I careen through the space between us. I see her name flash up, a beacon of hope. I answer it, say her name, try to take in what she's saying. She wants a meeting with Michael. She wants a divorce. I falter. Has she been taken in by Alice, the way that I was? Does she believe her lies? I throw out a prayer that this is all part of a plan Ana has constructed. I take a breath, grant Ana permission. Tell her I'll set up a meeting, tell her I'm busy. I end the call and rush to my wife, praying, praying...

I pull into an empty spot and park at an angle, open the door, pound the path to the entrance, I yank on the handle of the glass door and stumble through. People look up as I run but I leave them in my wake. I reach the elevator and slam the button to call it to me. I pace as I wait for the elevator to obey, pace and pray, pace and pray...

The elevator pings its arrival. I get in, punch the button to close the doors. Come on, come on. I will the elevator to go quicker, to bring me to Ana's floor. And I'm there, I run out, race to Ana's office, see people leaving their seats at the commotion. Someone is calling my name, questions are thrown from all sides. I grab the knob and fling open the door to my wife's office.

* * *

_Ana:_

"First rule of business. You must always read before you sign." I start to laugh.

Alice is watching me, looking like a cornered cat. "What..what do you mean?"

I sit down and lean back in my office chair, my eyes never leaving her. I watch her gulp and I relish the effect that I am having on her.

"I can be cruel, Alice. I can be so cruel. Do you really want me to be?" Her eyes flick from side to side and I watch her smooth neck take another gulp, swallow down her worry. I almost feel sorry for her. Almost.

"Who do you think you are?" It's been the question on the tip of my tongue for days, the question I have been asking myself for weeks. I smile that I have found the answer. This is who I am, the embodiment of the voice.

She blinks, unsure how to answer. "What did I sign?" Her voice comes out as a whisper.

"You wanted to be a Sub?" My question teases her, causes her face to whiten even more. "You got your wish. You're mine!"


	39. Chapter 39

**NOTE FROM RIOTTORI: THIS WILL PROBABLY BE MY LAST POST TONIGHT. I'LL TRY TO WRITE MORE THIS WEEK BUT I'M BACK AT WORK SO CAN'T PROMISE ANYTHING. THANKS FOR THE MESSAGES, REVIEWS AND SUPPORT. BEFORE WE BEGIN JUST A RECAP THAT ALICE SIGNED 2 DOCUMENTS - A CONTRACT FOR THE RIGHTS OF HER NOVEL AND THE AGREED NDA. JUST WANTED TO CLEAR UP ANY CONFUSION. **

_Ana:_

"No! That can't be. You can't..." She's battling for words, her confidence dissipating, leaving her alone and vulnerable. Her armor drops. She is naked before me.

It's everything I wanted, or thought I wanted, but seeing her so scared just makes me feel sad. She's like a lost little girl. She is right – I can't be cruel. It's just not me, not the Ana I am comfortable being, not the Ana my husband fell in love with. Alice is truly tainted, ugly all the way through, poisoned with jealousy and hate. I don't want to be like that. I just want her out of our lives.

"What you signed, buried in the 'rights' to your work, allows me to use one piece of equipment on you."

She looks nervously at me, her eyes filling with tears. "I don't want to. Please. Don't hurt me." My sad, hollow laugh at her ironic words echoes around my office.

"I am allowed to use a gag."

Her eyes widen.

"It's a gagging order. You have just signed a legally binding document which my lawyer drew up, preventing you from mentioning our names – mine, Christian's, my children's – indefinitely. That's just in case you reneged on the NDA, which is also legally binding. I have added a clause that prevents you from contacting any one of us."

"You can't...can you?" She looks so unnerved, so unsure.

"I can and I did. It's surprising the power being Mrs Grey wields, Miss Thomas. Oh, and now that I own the rights to "To Catch a King" and have no intention of publishing it, it will never be published."

She opens her mouth to say something but closes it again. Impotent. Powerless. The fight sucked from her.

"Yes, consider yourself gagged. Now get the fuck out of my office and out of our lives."

She obeys, standing on weak legs, looking like a child in her ridiculous trouser suit.

We both look up as my husband bursts through the door.

"Christian," I gasp, a ripple of annoyance passing through me. He must have me or her under surveillance. "What are you doing here?" He's with me in two strides, on my side of the desk, facing her.

"Christian!" She's leaning forward, clutching for him, hoping he'll save her. "She's banned me from seeing you. She forced me to sign a contract."

I can see the path his rage makes, coursing through his veins, clenching his jaw and fists and I'm suddenly frightened for this girl.

"I've got it under control," I say calmly, pulling his wrists to me and unfurling the fists. I grab his head and turn it to mine so I am all he can see. I need him to block everything else out. I need to fill him with reason. "It's under control. She signed the NDA and a gagging order."

I hear his breathing begin to slow, to imitate mine. Soon we are breathing as one.

He leans forward and brushes his lips gently across mine. I don't pull away. I need her to see this, this love my husband feels for me. The love found in great books. Love that lasts a lifetime.

I hear her sharp intake of breath. I will her to stay quiet. My husband could obliterate her in a way that I couldn't.

"Tell her you want a divorce. Tell her you want to be with me." She sounds whiny, nagging. I worry my bottom lip with my teeth. He breaks away from me/

His low laugh is a warning. I brace myself for the wall of words that will follow.

"My biggest regret was meeting you, falling for your tricks. How dare you even stand in the same room as my wife? How dare you compare yourself to her? I can't believe I almost lost her for some cheap imitation. You don't have half the heart, half the grace, half the good of my Ana. I will spend the rest of my life making it up to her. She's the only one for me, always was and always will be. I could destroy you, Alice. You and your mother. But I won't. Just make sure I never lay eyes on you again. Do you understand?" I watch her nod, I watch her pride take a hit, I watch her stumble out of the room. And it's over.

* * *

_Christian:_

No words will express my love for my wife. No words will express what a fool I've been. When I ran into the room, I saw them standing there, both faces turned toward me. My wife, flushed with emotion, radiant. Her, pale and wan – a poor imitation of my wife.

I thought I would do damage to her. She addressed me, told me my wife had banned me from seeing her. I felt the red rage creep in again. If Ana had not restrained me, I don't know what I would have done.

I tell her how I really feel, that she is nothing compared to my wife. I warn her that I can ruin her and tell her I never want to see her again. She runs from the room and I hold my wife to me, breathe her name against her hair, thank her for being strong, for solving the hideous problem I had caused. I never should have doubted her capabilities. She didn't need me here, she had it all under control. Would my wife never fail to surprise me? I swore I would never let that happen again.


	40. Chapter 40

**NOTE FROM RIOTTORI: I HAD A BIT OF TIME AND DECIDED TO DEDICATE IT TO MY STORY. THANK YOU FOR ALL THE MESSAGES AND SUPPORT. I'M SO PLEASED YOU UNDERSTOOD WHY ANA COULD NEVER HAVE BEEN ALICE'S DOM. AND AT LAST, ANA FOUND HER VOICE WHICH HAD BEEN 'SILENT ALL THESE YEARS'. SORRY, COULDN'T RESIST PAYING HOMAGE TO TORI AMOS. ;)**

_Ana:_

I never wanted to lose the Ana that I found in the office that day – the Ana that I was forced to find, the Ana that I had lost once. Nor did I want to lose the core of me, the heart of me, who was good and kind. I refused to believe that Alice – poor, inexperienced Alice – was right. That I had to be cruel to exist, to thrive. No, I reconciled the shades of Ana in my office that day, and I rose from the ashes, my feathers fashioned from my many facets.

I visited Black alone, initially. Before I could understand why Christian had been unfaithful, I had to explore first why I had let him. We brought my demons, screaming, into the light, shone a torch on them, examined them. I suppose I had always known too much about human nature, the desires that motivate people to act the way they do, to believe that my husband wouldn't one day want to explore uncharted waters. Even my 22-year-old self had questioned this which was why Mrs Robinson's words had resonated so deeply. Through time, I learnt the power of self-worth, the strength that self-esteem gives you. I learnt to love myself again. Only then did we re-introduce Christian.

We stood, that first day back in Black's office, on the threshold of the new, the dark path behind us, the road we had traversed the past 20 years. There was too much at stake for us just to walk away. I knew it and he had come to realize it.

My husband was pale with guilt, just a shade of his former self, as worry and remorse ate away at him. I had the ability to breathe life back into him, to make him shine again. I also had the power to destroy him – I knew that.

I won't pretend it was easy. The walls of Black's office were often splattered with anger; furious words were fired like bullets, reverberated around the walls and hit home. I found out about the Subs – there were 9 in total. Alice never really counted. They were all professional, all willing, all lasted only one month or less. He never saw them outside The Red Room. It was all about pure, unadulterated sex. _Sex and love – two different things. _Slowly, I was beginning to realize that.

We talked about Alice. He had been taken in, deceived, thought somehow he was getting me back, reliving our first meeting and the hope that I had inspired 20 years ago. He understood there was only one Ana, only one girl he would ever love. I believe he would have seen through her eventually – I needed to believe that if we were ever going to move on from this. It would have been too tiring for her to adopt the Anastasia Grey role for ever. The tainted, trickster Alice would eventually have crept through.

We dated on non-Black days. He continued his wooing. We laughed and talked and ate and drank as if we didn't have a care. As if our other selves, The Greys, weren't picking through the pieces of our relationship. We needed it, a little bit of love in our lives.

We indulged in vanilla. It took some time but we got there. He touched me, kissed almost every inch of the skin that he knew so well, as well as his own. I once thought that familiarity had been a bad thing. I now realized I was wrong. But more importantly, so did he. He worshiped me like a queen, like a goddess. My name on his lips was like a validation.

And one day, months later, as I entered the bedroom we shared once again, I found our favorite tie on the bed with a note pinned to it. I picked it up and saw my husband's neat handwriting:

_Meet me in The Room? Yours, C x _

I looked at it, at the tie that was such a big part of our relationship, and wondered if I could take the step. I wanted the intimacy that existed between us in The Room – it strengthened the relationship we had forged out of it. Twenty years ago, I had wanted to give him this, knew that he needed it. Now, I did. This was for me, too. It was our chance to get back to how we'd been. It was the only route back.

Desire bloomed deep inside, in a forgotten place, but there was also a strong shock of fear. Could I do this? Could he do this?

I looked in the mirror and gave my reflection a little nod. I carefully pulled my hair back into a high pony-tail. There was only one way to find out.


	41. Chapter 41

**NOTE FROM RIOTTORI: C AND A HAVE 2 PLAYROOMS - ONE IN ESCALA WHICH WAS TURNED INTO THE RED ROOM AND ONE AT THEIR HOUSE WHICH IS JUST CALLED THE ROOM IN THIS STORY. SORRY FOR THE CONFUSION.**

_Christian:_

My heart quickens as I hear her approach the door. I'm already in, waiting for her. My faded jeans still fit – I found them in the back of the wardrobe in our house. I have only ever worn these with her. The feel of them immediately arouses me, brings me back down through the decades. I just hope she'll say yes, let me love her in here, let me show her her worth, what she means to me. We need this as well as vanilla.

The door opens and I see my wife, framed by a halo of light in the doorway, her hair tied up in a pony-tail.

And I know she has come back to me.

And I know we'll be OK.

* * *

_Alice:_

If I crane my neck, I can catch a glimpse of them together in the restaurant. They have aged well, the past ten years have been kind. She is throwing her head back, laughing at something he has said. His eyes never leave her. She is all he can see. The sight roots me to the spot. I lean forward for a better view, like an onlooker, left out in the cold, my face pressed against the glass. I thought about them recently when they announced the arrival of their third grandchild, their first grandson, in the paper – another Christian Grey. The Grey family expands, the loop of life continues.

My husband pulls at my hand, tries to get me to continue walking, to get home. It's a bitter night, the air bites at us, but underneath there's the sweet promise of snow. I let him drag me a little bit further, but turn back to them, away from him, pull my wrist from his grip. I need one last look.

He's sitting forward in his chair now, whispering something in her ear and her eyes are sparkling. They look like teenagers in love. Teenagers in lust. I realize I was foolish to think I could have ever had him. He was already under her spell.

My husband stands behind me, balances on tip-toes to see what I'm looking at.

"Who are they?" he asks, not able to hide the awe in his voice. He is constantly impressed by those who clearly have money. We often take this route home, past this expensive restaurant, but I normally turn my head away, don't want my face rubbed in it.

I turn away and start to walk, my words taken by the wind. "Just people from my past."

My husband catches up with me, throws an arm around me. And we walk home in perfect step.

** THE END**

**NOTE FROM RIOTTORI: AND THAT'S ALL FOLKS. THANK YOU SOOOO MUCH FOR THE TIME AND ENERGY YOU INVESTED IN THIS STORY. I HAVE LOVED THE LIVELY DEBATES, THE INSIGHTFUL REVIEWS AND THE LOVELY MESSAGES OF SUPPORT. I DIDN'T MEAN TO BECOME SO OBSESSED WITH THIS STORY BUT IT WAS YOUR REACTION TO IT WHICH INSPIRED ME. IT REALLY HAS BEEN QUITE AN EMOTIONAL ROLLER-COASTER. THANK YOU FOR COMING ON THE RIDE WITH ME AND STAYING WITH ME TILL THE (NOT-SO BITTER) END! ;) **

**_Hi FanFiction friends,_**

**_A few of you had asked whether I had written anything else. I have just published a book on Smashwords called The Dating Game by Hannah Mitchell Margariti. If you enjoyed what you read here, check it out ;)_**

**_ books/view/303755_**


	42. Chapter 42

Hey all,

For those of you who wondered whether I had written anything else, I have just self-published a novel on smashwords dot com called The Dating Game by Hannah Mitchell Margariti. Feel free to check it out.

Best wishes,

Riottori


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